


Command My Soul

by Trufreak89



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Concubine, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hallucinations, Mental Health Issues, Polis, Post Season 2 Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trufreak89/pseuds/Trufreak89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After walking out on her people, Clarke is haunted by what she has done, and on the verge of losing her mind, when she comes across the Commander in the forest. A botched attempt on her life leaves Lexa with no choice but to take Clarke with her to Polis.</p><p>Once there, Clarke faces an uncertain choice of her own; become Lexa's Pellex - a kind of concubine - or face the consequences for her attempt on the Heda's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke’s grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger that she was clutching. Her palms felt slick and sweaty. She was convinced she might drop the knife if she didn’t cling on to it for dear life.

Clarke had walked out on her people almost four weeks earlier. In that time she’d been forced to learn to survive on her own, to hunt and forage for food. She’d walked out of the camp with no more than the clothes on her back, the knife strapped to her calf, and her pistol in its holster on her hip.

She’d had four bullets left in the clip, and Clarke had quickly expended those in her first efforts to catch herself some food. The pistol still hung at her side. She used to it to scare off stray grounders, as well as to club any fish she caught from the river.

It was her dagger that had kept Clarke alive though. She used it to hunt, to keep herself fed and warm. It had become a kind of lifeline for Clarke. Almost an extension of her own arm. She gripped the handle so hard that her knuckles began to ache in protest, but Clarke wouldn’t relent.

“Do you really think you can do this, Clarke?” she stiffened as she heard Maya’s voice right by her ear. The bodiless voice was nothing new. Clarke had been haunted by the dead, by her cardinal sins, ever since she’d pulled the lever and condemned the people of the mountain to their fates.

If she turned her head just slightly to the left, she would probably catch sight of Maya. Her skin would be burnt and mottled with blisters, just as it had been when Clarke had last seen her in the flesh. If it wasn’t Maya, then it would be Wells or her father.

They all looked at her with the same judgmental expressions, accusing her of atrocities that Clarke could not begin to face. She had killed them all, in one way or another, and they would not let her forget it.

The daughter of a doctor, Clarke was fairly certain that hearing disembodied voices and seeing dead people were sure signs of instability - if not serious mental illness - but there wasn’t much she could do about it; except maybe try and put her mind at ease by completing her task and claiming her kill.

Bent down low, hidden by the long grass, she moved with the kind of fluid grace that she didn’t remember possessing just a few weeks earlier. Life in the forest had quickly taught her to move swiftly and silently through the undergrowth; lest she go hungry.

Her latest pray was much bigger than the deer she’d caught the day before. It had been hard for the sky Princess to kill and cook her own food at first - which Clarke found ironic, considering just how many lives weighed down on her blighted soul - but it had been something she’d had to learn. Hunger had soon won out over her squeamishness.

She stalked her latest conquest as it moved to the edge of the clearing, dropping down by the water’s edge. It wasn’t alone, but Clarke’s sights were set on the proud head of the herd. The others that milled around the clearing became almost invisible in comparison to the majestic creature kneeling by the water.

This kill would be different. It would satiate a different kind of hunger. It would keep Clarke warm and satisfied for longer than any meal ever could. With an iron grip on the dagger in her hand the whole of Clarke’s body seemed to tense up as she prepared to strike.

The head of the herd finished taking a drink from the river and rose back up. It craned its long, slender, neck this way and that way, as though picking up on the telltale signs of a nearby predator. Clarke was surprised her rapidly pounding heart hadn’t already given her position away.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her body. It fell from her brow and stung at her eyes, making her blink rapidly as her prey started moving back towards the tree line, bringing it feet away from where Clarke sat crouched over in the grass. Palms sweating, heart racing, she tensed the muscles in her calves. It was now or never. Clarke would only get one chance at this.

Springing up with the grace of a mountain lion, Clarke lunged forward, releasing a primal kind of war-cry from deep within her chest. She held the dagger high above her head, ready to bring it crashing down with devastating effect.

“Heda!” A strangled cry sounded out from Clarke’s left as the grounders closest to where she’d been hiding jumped at the sudden blur of movement. None of them were as close to Clarke as their Commander was though. There was nothing they could do but cry out and watch as Clarke’s knife came slashing down through the air.

It never hit it’s mark.

Blinded by white-hot anger, Clarke had forgotten just how deadly the commander of the grounders was in and of herself. Lexa hadn’t needed the warning from her warriors to know her life was in danger. She’d heard the soft snapping of twigs and dry crunching of leaves as she’d stooped by the water’s edge. Had seen the few hard edges of Clarke’s body that the grass had not covered.

She spun around to face her attacker - and former ally - but did not draw the sword that hung at her side. She didn’t need the heavy weapon to take down the malnourished teen. Grabbing the wrist that was holding the knife, Lexa twisted it hard enough to make the bones crunch, forcing Clarke to drop the offending blade. At the same time, she brought her knee up to slam in to the other girl’s solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of her and dropping Clarke to the ground.

She was bent over, gasping for air, as Lexa finally drew her sword. The Commander placed the cold steel tip to the back of Clarke’s neck, but made no attempt to strike her down. Clearly she intended for Clarke to suffer even more than she already had.

Lexa’s warriors surrounded the Sky Princess as she dry heaved on to the forest floor. There were at least half a dozen of them. Even if Clarke had somehow managed to find her breath again, there was no way her exhausted body would be able to outrun the grounder warriors. The trees were their domain. They would catch her in an instant; and probably drag her right back to Lexa’s feet.

Her death would be long and drawn out. Of that much Clarke was sure. She deserved nothing less. Maybe that was why she had started following Lexa and her people when she’d stumbled across their camp earlier that morning. Maybe she had known all along that Lexa, or at least one of her people, would finally do what Clarke had been incapable of, and put the teen out of her wretched misery.

“Do it.” Clarke growled out. Her voice was rough and cracked. Those words were maybe the first she had spoken out loud in weeks. When Clarke had first ventured alone in to the woods, with only the dead for company, she had answered their accusations. Defended her actions. Eventually they had worn her down though. She never could win an argument against Wells or her Dad.

They’d told her she was the one who deserved to be dead. Clarke agreed with them. Her actions, however well-meaning, had caused the deaths of countless lives. Some were innocent, and some were not, but that was beside the point. Clarke Griffin was a cold blooded murderer, and Lexa of the Trikru had driven her to it. It seemed only fitting that the Commander should take Clarke’s life.

Despite having caught her breath again, Clarke was still on her hands and knees on the ground. A curtain of dirty blond hair hung over her face. It fell in her eyes as she lifted them to glare up at Lexa, willing her to just get it over with her. “Do. It! Clarke snapped again, her words holding more conviction as she growled them out.

All around her the other grounders shifted uneasily, their swords all trained on Clarke. It was clear from the looks on their faces, and their anxious shuffling, that they were eager to end the life of the woman who had dared to try and kill their leader. They took their cues from Lexa though, and the Commander was as still as stone as she glared down at the pitiful sight before her.

Turning her back on the Sky People had been hard. Walking away from Clarke had been damn near impossible. The Commander had done it though. For her people. Given the same choice again, she would do the same thing all over. Her people were her priority. They had to come first.

The young woman at her feet was almost unrecognizable as Clarke. Her clothes torn and tattered, her face and arms covered in dirt and grime, and a murderous rage burning in her eyes, Clarke looked more animal than person. She reminded Lexa of the mutant pauna that she and Clarke had faced down not so long ago; though it seemed like a lifetime.

“Heda?” One of the older men, his thick black beard speckled with grey, took a step towards Lexa.  
“Kompf!” Lexa held up her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding a longsword against the back of Clarke’s neck, and ordered him to stop. Still staring down at Clarke, she barked out a quick succession of Trigedasleng.

Clarke was far from fluent in the grounder language, but she had picked up enough from her time in the alliance to recognize gada and honon. Lexa was telling them that the girl on the ground was to be their prisoner.

Clarke felt her heart sink. She’d been counting on the commander to give her a quick death. The only reason for Lexa to take her prisoner was so that she could be given the Death of a Thousand Cuts. The thought of the tortuously slow death made Clarke’s mouth dry; though it wasn’t out of fear.

Clarke was done.

Physically and mentally she was exhausted. She wasn’t sure she even had the energy to stand again. Clarke just wanted it to be over with. She’d reached the end of her journey. She was ready to move on to whatever came next. Whether that was some kind of fiery judgment, or bleak nothingness, she would welcome it with open arms.

“No…” Clarke shook her head. She clenched her eyes shut as tears welled up in them. They wouldn’t take her alive. Lexa wouldn’t get to turn her back on Clarke for a second time. Balling her fists, Clarke summoned what little strength she had left, knocked Lexa’s sword aside, and pushed herself back up to her feet. Lexa didn’t try to stop her.

While the other grounders were unsettled by Clarke’s sudden movements, Lexa’s expression remained blank and unreadable. “I’m not going anywhere! So just kill me already!” The words sliced in to the soft flesh of Clarke’s tender throat. She had said more in the last minute than she had in almost a month.

Her gaze dropped to the ground, where her knife lay in the dirt at Lexa’s feet. Her movements were slow and clumsy as she tried to drop to her knees to retrieve the knife. Her eyes had betrayed her intentions and Lexa beat her to it.

Planting her foot on the handle of the knife, Lexa dropped to her knees and brought the edge of her sword up to Clarke’s throat. At the same time, she grabbed a handful of Clarke’s lank hair and gave it a hard yank. “Enough!” Stopping her warriors with a single look, Lexa was breathing hard as she barked in Clarke’s ear. It was the only outward sign the pressure she was under.

Her men were watching her closely, waiting to see what their Commander would do. If Clarke kept pushing it, then Lexa would have no choice but to give the girl her wish and end her life. “That is enough, Clarke.” To the Commander’s relief, Clarke stopped struggling. She went limp against Lexa’s firm body, her own body sagging forward and causing the blade at her throat to bite in to her skin. “Please…” A sob sounded from the exhausted teenager. “Just kill me.”

“No.” Lexa’s voice was strong and firm as she lowered her sign. “I will not kill you, Clarke of the Sky People. You will not force my hand.” Lexa knew exactly what the other girl was trying to do, and she would not allow it. “Gunther!” Turning her attention back to the older warrior who had stepped towards her earlier, she gave him some orders in Trigedasleng.

He promptly gave a bow and turned to jog back over to their waiting horses. After rifling through one of the saddle packs he came back with a length of rope and handed it over to Lexa. “Do not fight me, Clarke.” Lexa warned as she yanked the struggling girl’s arms back behind her. She bound her hands with the coarse rope, tying it tight enough to bite painfully in to the skin of her wrists.

“Where are you-” Clarke started to ask, but the question was cut short as Lexa brought the hilt of her short sword slamming down against the back of Clarke’s head. Fireworks exploded in front of her eyes, and the black spots on the peripheral of her vision started to close in. The world went dark before she could even let out a groan of protest.

Lexa caught her before she could face-plant the forest floor. Scooping the teenager up, she threw her over her shoulder, shrugging off Gunther’s offer to take the girl from her. Lexa stared Gunther and the rest of her men down in turn, making it clear that Clarke’s life was in her hands, and not theirs. “Clarke is my burden, and mine alone.”  
  
  


* * *

 

  
When Clarke finally came to again the sun had long since set in the west. She was draped sideways over a large black horse, her body slamming against it with every stride the powerful animal took.

To Clarke, it felt like her ribs were about to cave in on themselves under the pressure. Her heart was still racing and her head was pounding. A dull, yet persistent, ache had settled itself behind her left eye, and she wasn’t sure whether the nausea she felt was from the motion of the moving horse, or from a possible concussion.

Clarke couldn’t be sure what had happened, but she could hazard a guess that Lexa had struck her with something, knocking her clean out. The ground below her swam in and out of focus as her eyes started to open fully, and adjust to the dim twilight.

Without thinking, or caring that her hands were still bound behind her back, Clarke used her legs to kick out and push herself all the way over the saddle. She did a less than graceful forward roll, landing with a bump on her already fragile head. She only just managed to roll herself up in a ball and avoid being trod on by the horse directly behind Lexa’s.

There was a load of shouting and commotion as the grounders all brought their horses to a sudden stop. For all Clarke couldn’t understand a word of what Lexa was saying as she dismounted and stalked towards her, she was pretty sure it was a string of colorful profanities.

“Do you have any idea how foolish that was?” Lexa demanded. She stood over Clarke with her hands on her hips, scolding her like she was a child. “You could have been killed!” Clarke managed a half-hearted shrug. It sent a wave of pain shooting through her left shoulder, which had been the first part of her body to meet the ground and break the fall.

Lexa’s lips pursed as something dangerously close to an emotion played across her young face. “We’ll stop here for the night. Aramis, take first watch!” Lexa called out to the others, instructing them to set up camp for the night. The youngest of the group - a boy maybe a year or two younger than Clarke, with a closely shaved head - nodded in response and clambered up the closest tree.

“This is a good place to camp. You chose well.” Lexa commented as she took a seat on the ground beside Clarke, resting her back against a tree. The offhand remark almost sounded like a compliment, but Lexa’s tone was thick with sarcasm. Clarke ignored her. She was too tired to deal with the Commander’s passive-aggressive sarcasm.

Her whole body ached. She was tired and hungry and the bindings at her wrists were painfully tight. Clarke’s pride refused to allow her to ask for Lexa to loosen them. So she lay where she was, curled up in a ball, just focusing on breathing in and out, and trying not to move too much.

She heard the rustling of a canvas bag beside her. When she cracked open her eyes she saw Lexa drinking from a water canteen. “You should drink something.” Lexa moved to offer the other girl the water, but Clarke made no effort to sit up. With a haughty sigh, Lexa moved to assist her, hooking her hands under Clarke’s armpits to sit her up against the trunk of a tree.

Lexa had barely touched her when Clarke let out a guttural scream. Pain ripped through her shoulder and right up in to her collar bone. “You are hurt.” Lexa frowned, like Clarke’s injury was more of an irritation than a concern. Pulling out a knife from the holster at her ankle, Lexa cut the rope around the other girl’s wrists, freeing her hand.

Clarke let out another strangled sob as she brought her hands back around in front of her. The intense pain in her shoulder was doing a good job of distracting her from the pounding of her head, but not in a good way.

She tried to focus on keeping from passing out as Lexa gingerly lifted up her shirt. She clucked her tongue in distaste at the sight of the deep bruising on Clarke’s pale skin. Her collarbone was protruding outward. It had clearly been dislocated in the fall. “I need to reset this… It will hurt.” Lexa gave her an earnest look, something close to concern marring her usually benign expression.

“Just do it.” Clarke growled out, gritting her teeth in anticipation of the pain. Lexa nodded. Placing one and on Clarke’s good shoulder to steady herself, and the other at her elbow.

“On three… One. Two.” She never made it to three. Two had barely left her lips when Lexa pushed Clarke’s injured shoulder upwards, slamming in back in to the socket.  
“Son of a bitch!” Clarke screamed at the top of her lungs, recoiling back from the Commander and using her good arm to cradle her injured shoulder. “Fuck,Lex! I thought you said on three?”

The affectionate nickname tumbled past her lips without Clarke’s approval. She quickly clamped them shut as she realized what she had just called the Commander of the Grounders. If any of Lexa’s people noticed then they didn’t say anything. Lexa herself made no mention of it, choosing instead to pick up the water canteen and offer it to Clarke again.

The teenager drank hungrily, chugging the water back like it was Monty’s moonshine. It spilled out over her chin, dropping down on to her shirt. “Easy.” Lexa admonished, once again chiding her. She set the canteen back on the ground and reached for the length of rope that she’d previously used to bind Clarke’s hands.

Clarke stiffened, expecting to be tied up again. Instead, Lexa moved to wrap it around her injured arm, creating a kind of sling to help support it. Noticing Clarke’s wary look, Lexa managed a wry smile. “You may be my prisoner Clarke, but that does not mean I have to be unkind.”

“Of course.” Clarke snapped. “Treat your prisoners well and betray your allies. Makes perfect sense, Commander.”  
“You mock me.” Lexa’s eyes hardened, the green orbs like flawless emeralds. Clarke dropped her gaze, ashamed that she could still find the other woman attractive. That her body could still ache for Lexa after her betrayal.

“What the hell were you expecting?” Clarke demanded, finally finding her voice again. “You left us, Lexa! You turned your back on us!” On me. The silent accusation lingers between them, just like the restless spirits of the dead that still haunt Clarke’s every waking moment.

“Of course she did.” Wells piped up, suddenly appearing on Lexa’s left. He was resting on a large rock, his knees drawn up to his chest. His skin was the color of ash, and the gaping wound in his neck was still seeping. Clarke hated seeing him like that. Maybe that was why he appeared to her like that more often than not.

“What were you expecting Clarke? These people are savages! You knew she’d betray you. You knew it from the start. You were just too blinded by how pretty she is.” Wells sneered, his expression contorting in to a look that he would never have worn when he was still alive.

“Shut up!” Clarke snapped. She was irritated at being called out on her lingering attraction to the grounder commander.  
“I did not say anything.” Lexa frowned. She noticed Clarke was looking right past her, and turned to see what it was she was looking at. The ground beside her was empty.

“Sorry, Sky Princess, I’m just saying it how it is.” Wells shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Maybe you should have taken a leaf out of the Commander’s book. Start thinking with your head for once. Instead of your-”  
“That’s enough!” Clarke snapped. She struggled to get to her feet, still cradling her injured shoulder. “You’re not real! You’re not Wells!”

“Clarke!” Lexa jumped up beside her, reaching out for the other girl. The other grounders had scattered around the clearing, setting about lighting a fire and seeing to dinner. They all jumped to attention when they saw Lexa standing.  
“Heda?”

“Just leave me alone! Go away!” Clarke screamed, lashing out at what seemed to be thin air. “You’re dead! You’re dead!”  
“CLARKE!” The commander grabbed at the wrist of her good arm, spinning her around to face her. Her free hand cupped Clarke’s cheek, forcing her to look the commander in the eye. “Whatever plagues you, it is not real… The dead are gone, Clarke. They trouble us no more.”

The Commander spoke in a low, hushed, tone. She ran the pad of her thumb softly over Clarke’s cheek as she tried to get her to focus on her, and not at the apparition standing behind her. Her hands were rough and calloused, hardened from a lifetime of war and loss.

“They won’t leave me alone…” Clarke sighed. Her eyes were wide and brimming with unshed tears as they finally focused on Lexa. “They won’t… they… I…”  
“Shhh.” Lexa soothed, still cupping Clarke’s cheek. “The dead are gone, Clarke. They may whisper in your ear, but you do not have to listen.”

“Heda.” Gunther approached his Commander, eying Clarke warily. “She is troubled by the spirits of the forest, yes?”  
“Yes.” Lexa agreed, letting her hand drop back down to her side. “Fetch Lustig, the healer, he will make her a draft to calm her nerves.”

“Yes, Heda.” Gunther gave another bow, and rushed over to the man tending to the fire. He must have been the healer, because he nodded stoutly and began scouring the forest floor for the herbs he needed.

“Sit.” Lexa turned her attention back to Clarke and ordered her back down to the ground. Clarke complied, dropping like a sack of potatoes. Wells had vanished from sight, giving Clarke a momentary reprieve from his hauntings. “You have been alone too long. The forest can play tricks on your mind.”

Clarke said nothing. She was too absorbed in the empty spot where Wells had previously sat. She had never been able to make him leave before, yet Lexa had made him vanish on command. Clarke could not do that. Most days Clarke couldn’t even get the voices of the dead to be quiet long enough to let her sleep.

She suddenly felt drained. The silence in her head felt deafening. It was too quiet in there all on her own. She sat quietly on the ground, staring blankly at the rock beside Lexa’s feet. The Commander said nothing more, just took a seat beside her and waited for Lustig to return.

The healer didn’t take very long in collecting the herbs he needed. After mashing them in to a paste, and boiling them in a canteen of water over the fire, he cautiously approached Clarke to hand it over. The teenager stared right past him, and Lustig glanced at his Heda for guidance.

Taking the canteen out of his hand, she ushered the healer away. Bringing the flask up to Clarke’s lips, she waited patiently for the other girl to drink. “It will help.” She assured her. “Clarke?” However stubborn the sky girl could be, Lexa was certain she could outdo her.

She pursed her lips when Clarke carried on ignoring her. Patience wasn’t Lexa’s strong point. As Heda of her people she was used to being obeyed. “Clarke of the Sky People! Drink!” She commanded in a stern voice, as though directing troops in to battle, not ordering a teenager to take a drink.

Her people were watching them. Watching Clarke’s blatant disregard for the Commander’s authority. She couldn’t allow that kind of insolence to stand. In a low growl, she said “You will drink it. Now.” It was easier to reconcile Lexa with her betrayal when she was addressing Clarke as the Commander. Ordering her.

The teenager blinked, dragged out of her stupor by Lexa’s low gravelly growl and stern expression. Snatching the canteen out of her hand, she brought it up to her lips and finished half of it one long gulp. Her eyes were dark and stormy as they locked on to Lexa’s.

She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. The draft had tasted vile, like damp earth and mold. Clarke had seen some of the things the grounders used as medicine, and she didn’t want to be even begin to think about what might have been in the flask. Still glaring at Lexa, she muttered petulantly, “Yes, Heda.”

Lexa ignored the sarcasm in her voice. Rising back to her feet, she dusted off the knees of her pants, and regarded Clarke with her usual cold, hard, candor. “Rest now. We ride at dawn.”  
“Ride where?” Clarke huffed.  
  
The fact that she had moved to lie down on the grass had nothing to do with Lexa ordering her to. She had already been tired to begin with, and Lustig’s draft had knocked her on her ass. Her eyelids felt far too heavy to keep open, so she let them close over instead.

“And shouldn’t you be tying me up?” Clarke barely stifled a yawn as she curled up in a ball. “What if I… try to… run.”  
“You won’t get far.” Lexa answered with a dismissive shrug. She took her post back over by the tree she’d been leaning on earlier. It was close enough to watch over Clarke, yet far enough away to give her some space. She wasn’t even sure if the other girl was still awake as she added, “We ride for Polis.”  
  
Thanks to Lustig’s draft, Clarke slept the sleep of the dead. She didn’t have a single dream or nightmare. She didn’t toss or turn, or wake up screaming in the middle of the night. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Clarke Griffin slept soundly.

She woke to someone gently shaking her shoulder. “Five more minutes, Mom.” She groaned, and tried to raise her arm up to cover her face. Her shoulder wouldn’t comply. It felt stiff and sluggish. Pain radiated through the joint, seemingly in time to the beat of her heart.

“Easy, Sky Heda.” Gunther, the older grounder with the beard streaked with grey, gently pushed her back down so she was lying flat on her back. Clarke let out a small groan. The pain in her shoulder had eased since Lexa had reset the dislocation, but it still throbbed. “Here. Drink this.” Gunther shoved a cupful of something in front of her. Clarke took it without protest. Her throat felt as a dry as the desert.

“Eugh!” She almost spat it out. She would have, had Gunther not slapped his hand over her mouth to stop her. It tasted just as vile as the last draft had.  
“Drink, Sky Heda. It will numb the pain.” Gunther instructed, keeping his beefy hand in place until Clarke made a show of swallowing.

The liquid in her mouth, if it could even be considered a liquid, had the consistency of oil. It tasted like ash and tar and stung Clarke’s throat on the way down. Despite its horrendous taste, the draft started working right away. The pain in her head and in her shoulder dulled to a more tolerable ache.

“Thank you.” Clarke rasped, her voice still raw and fragile. She glanced down at her shoulder, straining her neck to take in the new sling that someone had put on her while she slept. The rope had been replaced by a cloth of some kind. It was wrapped around her forearm, encasing it and holding it up against Clarke’s good shoulder. “But please don’t call me that. I’m nobody’s leader.”

Gunther nodded. The grounders weren’t ones to waste words. He offered his hand out to help Clarke up. She swallowed her pride and took it. Gunther had been nothing but kind to her. It wasn’t his fault that his Commander was a backstabbing bitch.

Clarke followed the grounder over to where the others were busy packing up their saddlebags. Lexa had her back to Clarke. She was tending to her own horse, the big black beast that Clarke had thrown herself from the night before. Gunther cleared his throat to get her attention. “The prisoner is ready, Heda.”

“Good.” Lexa kept her back to them. “She can ride with you.”  
“I-” Clarke started, but Lexa didn’t give her a chance to finish.  
“If she refuses, tie her to your saddle and make her walk.” Lexa finally turned around to face them. Despite her threat, her expression was blank.

She regarded Clarke carefully, as though waiting for her to argue. Clarke thrust her head up high in the air, refusing to back down, but knowing better than to call the Commander’s bluff. Gunther helped her up on to the back of his horse. Though a more accurate description would be that he lifted her clear off the ground. Clarke only had to grab on to the front of the saddle and pull herself forward a little to get in to place.

She couldn’t deny she’d been surprised, and maybe a little offended, when Lexa had palmed her off with Gunther. It had been perfectly fine for Clarke to ride with her when the teenager was unconscious and draped over her saddle. Now that she was awake it was a different story.

Gunther climbed up behind her, settling himself in behind Clarke on the saddle and taking the reigns of the horse. The grounders fell in to formation around Lexa and Gunther’s horses, guarding their Commander and her prisoner. For all Lexa wasn’t riding with Clarke, she kept her horse in stride with Gunther’s.

The trek was monotonous. The forest passed by for mile after mile. Not so long ago the ground had been new and exciting to Clarke, but it had quickly lost its appeal. Like Lexa, at first glance, the ground seemed beautiful and enticing, but upon closer inspection it was cold and ruthless.

They rode all morning without stopping, until the sun was towering high above them in the middle of the sky. Clarke, who had only ridden a horse for the first time a couple of months earlier, felt like her thighs were on fire by the time they finally came to a stop.

Gunther dropped down from the horse first, before reaching up to help lower Clarke down. She stumbled forward. Her legs felt like jelly and the mud beneath her feet was like thick sludge. She almost fell face first in the dirt, until Lexa reached out to steady her.

Her touch was barely there as she helped right Clarke, and then briskly stepped away. She barked orders at her men, having them tend to the horses and secure the clearing they had stopped in. Clarke felt like a spare part, just standing there watching everyone else doing something. She moved to a dry patch of ground and sat down, tucking her knees up to her chest.

The draft that Lustig had given her for the pain was still buzzing around in her system. It made the colours of the forest sharp and yet fuzzy at the same time. Clarke was spacing in and out when Aramis, the young grounder whom Lexa had gotten to keep watch the previous night, approached her. He held out a small bundle, wrapped up in cloth.

“Eat.” He instructed, though his voice wasn’t anywhere near as deep and gruff as the likes of Lustig’s. He was a skinny, slip of a boy. With wiry blond hair that fell down in to his eyes. The smattering of stubble on his cheeks seemed less about growing an actual beard, as it was about proving that he could.

“Thank you.” Clarke took the bundle from him and unwrapped it, revealing a selection of strips of salted meat, a handful of nuts and berries and a chunk of bread. Despite trying to act like a big brave grounder, the young man couldn’t stop a smile from slipping on to his lips. Clarke managed a weak smile in return, and Aramis’ cheeks burned before he ducked his head.

Clarke wasn’t the only one to notice. “Aramis! Daun ste pleni! Gonot nau em.”[Aramis! That is enough! Leave her.”] Lexa snapped at him, calling him back over to the other grounders.  
“Brawnwoda.”[“Fool.”] Gunther shook his head at the boy, clipping him roughly around the ear. The grounders carried on speaking in Trigedasleng, the words coming out thick and fast. Clarke recognized a word or two, but she didn’t know nearly enough to understand what they were saying.

Clarke sat off to the side of the group, on her own, picking at her food. Lexa was sitting with her back to her, which seemed almost deliberate. The longer Clarke stared at the back of her head, the more angry she became at being ignored. Lexa had taken her prisoner, and the least she could do was actually acknowledge Clarke.

They barely seemed to have stopped before they were packing up again and moving on. Gunther approached Clarke, intending to help her up on to his horse again, but the teenager literally dug her heels in to the ground in protest. “No. I’m not getting back on that thing with you!”

“And I’m not walking either!” She snapped, right as Lexa was about to comment. She rounded on the other girl, jabbing a finger in to her chest. Gunther and the others made to pull their weapons, but Lexa shook her head at them. Her eyes narrowed on Clarke.  
“And how else do you suppose to reach Polis? You may be of the sky people, Clarke, but I do not suppose you can fly.”

“I’m riding with you!” Clarke answered defiantly, holding Lexa’s stern gaze. “You want to take me prisoner? Then you damn well take responsibility for me yourself!” Clarke was pushing it. She knew she was. Lexa could have had her killed her for the attempt on her life. She didn’t have to take Clarke prisoner and take her to Polis for a trial, or whatever else the Commander was planning for her, but she was. She had spared Clarke’s life, yet the other girl just kept pushing. Challenging Lexa’s authority in front of her warriors.

Clarke was starting to worry she’d pushed the Commander too far, when Lexa finally nodded. “If you would like to ride with me Clarke, you need only have asked.” Her expression remained stoic, but there was a kind of smugness to her voice. Like she’d just won some unspoken battle.

“I-” Clarke started but faltered. She felt her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. Lexa had played her. Making Clarke ride with Gunther, ignoring her all morning, she had pushed Clarke in to demanding Lexa’s attention.

Deciding not to dig herself in to any deeper of a hole, Clarke clenched her teeth and clamped her mouth shut. Gunther helped her up on to Lexa’s horse, while the Commander climbed in to the saddle on her own. Holding the reigns with one hand she wrapped her free arm around Clarke’s waist, pulling her flush against her.

Clarke swallowed twice, trying to get rid of the lump at the back of her throat. She hated herself for the involuntary effect Lexa’s touch had on her body. It was hard to remember to hate Lexa when the palm of her hand was resting flat against Clarke’s stomach, right at the spot where her shirt was riding up. It was almost too much when Lexa leaned in by her ear and murmured, “Hold fast, Clarke. We have many miles to go.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
“Are we there yet?” Clarke asked with a heavy sigh, twisting uncomfortably on the saddle in front of Lexa. Her thighs were aching, and her butt was numb. Lexa hadn’t been lying when she’d said they still had a long way to go. They’d been traveling all day, and it was almost dusk.

“Clearly not.” Lexa answered in her usual aloof tone. It wasn’t the first time Clarke had asked. “You will know when we arrive. Polis is like nothing you have yet seen.” Clarke lapsed back in to silence after that. She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from the capital. She figured it would be a larger scale of TonDC.

“What’s that?” Clarke asked some time later. Night had finally fallen and a light fog was making it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of them, yet in the distance the sky looked like it was on fire. Clarke twisted in the saddle, turning to look at Lexa despite the dull pain in her shoulder.

She was surprised to see a genuine smile on Lexa’s usually stern face. The Commander sat up a little straighter, staring proudly off in to the distance. “That is Polis.” Lexa was right, the city was like nothing else Clarke had ever seen. At least not outside of books or pictures.

Polis had once been a sprawling metropolis, before the bombs, and in its own way it still was. Broken skyscrapers loomed on the horizon, reaching up like arthritic fingers grasping at the night sky. Fire pits and candles burned on almost every floor, giving the city a hazy orange glow in the early evening light.

The forest floor abruptly gave way to a concrete freeway, though mother nature still had her fingers firmly grasped on the sprawling concrete jungle. Patches of grass were growing up from the cracks in the road, and thick moss was climbing over the central reservation.

Clarke’s eyes were wide and child like as she took in the sights of the city on their approach. Flaming torches lined the freeway on either side, illuminating an old sign declaring them to be on Interstate 90 and approaching Mercer Island.

The freeway branched off in to two lanes, like arteries in the heart. In times of old they had allowed traffic on and off the island, but now the lane on the left was submerged under water, with paddy fields of rice growing as far as the eye could see.

“Is that a dolphin?” Clarke sat up higher in the saddle, glancing excitedly down at the water below the concrete bridge they were crossing over. She had drawn dolphins out of books, but she had never thought she’d actually get to see one.

Lexa’s grip around her waist tightened, as though she was worried Clarke might lean too far over and fall in to the icy water below. “Iniidae.” She nodded. “Dolphin.” Clarke didn’t have long to marvel at it though. The horses kept up a brisk trot, carrying Clarke and the grounders over the bridge.

There were sentries posted at the other side. They straightened as they saw their Heda approaching. One of them blew on a horn similar to the kind they used to warn of the aid fog, but it was a higher pitch, carrying out in to the city.

It was met by another horn, and then another, as the Commander’s arrival was passed from sentry to sentry. Lexa greeted the two men with a swift nod, keeping her arm around Clarke’s waist as she guided the horse past them.

Despite the late hour, the city was still alive and bustling with activity. Some of the brick and stone buildings were little more than the foundations sticking up out of the ground, but most were still in use. There were wooden market stalls and shacks - along with colourful tents - interspersed among the old buildings.

The market streets that Lexa and the others rode past were a world away from the village of TonDC. The sidewalks and roads were once again cracked with grass growing up through them - and trees had seemingly grown through the floors of entire buildings - but the city was still majestic.

Crowds gathered to greet the Commander. They bustled around Lex and her warriors, while still leaving a path for their leader to guide her horse safely through. Clarke would feel at least a thousand pairs of eyes on her as she shrank back against Lexa’s front. There were murmurs amongst the crowd. Most were speaking in Trigedasleng, but Clarke heard the word Skaikru being repeated over and over. She wondered just how far word of the sky people and Mt. Weather had traveled.

While some of the other grounders split off from Clarke and the Commander, Gunther and Lsutig stayed beside them, following them a few streets over to what had once been a municipal court house. The sandstone building stood four storeys high, with elaborate pillars and arched doorways and windows. Lexa pulled her horse up in front of the weathered stone steps at the front of the court building.

Clarke felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as a grounder reached for the reigns of the horse, steadying it for Lexa to climb down. As soon as the Commander’s feet hit the floor she reached up to help Clarke down, being mindful of her injured shoulder. They had reset the dislocation, but the joint was still tender.

Lexa’s hand clamped around Clarke’s other wrist like a vice. “Come.” She ordered, tugging her along towards the steps. Any thoughts of Clarke digging her feet in vanished as Gunther gave her a gentle push from behind.

The old courthouse was brimming with people, but nobody would look Clarke in the eye. They kept their gazes low to the ground, respectfully bowing as Lexa passed them with her prisoner. The building had obviously been converted from its original purpose as a court, instead it seemed to be being used as a stately home. Clarke wondered if the building still had its original jail cells for the visiting inmates. Her mind conjured up images of rotting away in solitary up on the Ark; and then again in the crisp white, overly sanitized, cell of Mt. Weather.

Clarke couldn’t go back in a cell. She would die before she let that happen. Stopping so suddenly that her arm jerked free of Lexa’s ironclad grip, she let out a pained whimper. The Commander paused, something close to concern playing out across her young face. “Clarke…” she advanced on the other girl, making Clarke stumble back in to Gunther’s barrel like chest.

“Please…” Clarke let out another whimper as Gunther grabbed hold of her good arm. Some of the people milling around the house had stopped to see what was going on. They were all staring at the wild blond haired stranger as she struggled against Gunther. “Please don’t lock me away! Please, just kill me! Just kill me-”

“Clarke!” Lexa snapped again, intense green eyes burning in to Clarke’s own wild gaze. She moved forward, taking her from Gunther. “You are safe.” Her words took on a softer tone, and held the same kind of conviction that they had back in the forest - When Clarke had woken up after fleeing from the gorilla and dozing off on the ground. Despite her mind screaming at her not to, Clarke trusted the other girl anyway.

She visibly relaxed, the fight draining from her as she almost slumped against Lexa’s side. She was done fighting. Maybe she deserved to spend the rest of her wretched  
life rotting away in some grounder prisoner. She was a murderer - a ripa - and she had tried to take yet another life when she had attempted to cut Lexa down in the forest. She deserved whatever the Commander had in store for her.

“Heda?! Mounin houm!” A woman stepped past the gathered crowd, taking in the sight of the Commander and the barely conscious teen draped over her. She was older than the teens, but younger than Clarke’s mother. Perhaps in her early thirties, she had long brown hair that hung down her back in an elaborate braid. Her eyes were the colour of warm honey and they were full of concern as she moved to help support Clarke. “Fis ste laik heda kom Skaikru?

“Sha. Klark kom Skaikru. Teik em raun ai bagraun.” Lexa released Clarke’s arm, giving her over to the other woman. Clarke couldn’t even summon the courage to care. The toil of the last couple of days - if not months - had taken their toll on the young woman.

“Sha, Heda.” The woman nodded. Her expression was as serious and stern as Lexa’s, though her eyes were kind as she ushered Clarke towards a marble staircase. Mercifully, she spoke English. “Come, Clarke. You must be tired after your journey. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Clarke shot a nervous glance over her shoulder at the Commander. “Go with Dren. I will be along presently.” For once, Clarke did as she was told without any argument. The woman - Dren - seemed nice at least, and the thought of going somewhere more comfortable was an appealing one.

Dren held on to her as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. The courthouse had come out of the final war relatively unscathed. The hallways were immaculately kept, with the wooden floors so polished that Clarke could practically see her reflection in them as she shuffled forward.

The grounder woman moved to open a door of one of the rooms that had previously held court. The room had dramatically changed since the days of its first conception. It had been gutted of the original fixtures and furniture. Animal skins lay over the hardwood floors, cushioning Clarke’s stumbling steps. A queen size bed dominated the center of the room, and was also heaped with furs.

There was antique furniture littered around the room, from side tables to ornately carved chairs. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, along with framed paintings by the old masters. The room struck Clarke as oddly civilized, like she could be standing back in Mt. Weather, rather than in the grounder capital.

“Sit, sit.” Dren ushered her to an overstuffed couch, which Clarke practically dropped in to. Her thighs were aching and her shoulder was throbbing. The nagging pain at the back of her eye socket had returned with a vengeance and she was struggling to focus as Dren handed her a cup of something. She sniffed it cautiously.

Dren looked a lot like Lexa as she impatiently rolled her Kohl lined eyes and took the cup back from Clarke. She took an exaggerated gulp, before handing it back to her. “It’s water. I am not trying to poison you.”

“Thanks.” Clarke mumbled, before taking a tentative sip. The water had a sharp tang to it, but seemed otherwise okay. The couch was sat right in front of a fireplace, where a fire was crackling away in the hearth. The unrelenting assault of the warm air against the side of her face had Clarke’s eyes drooping shut.

Dren left her be. She pottered around the Commander’s room, getting it ready for Lexa’s arrival. She didn’t have long to wait. The door opened with a bang, startling Clarke awake. She jumped, her eyes wildly scanning the room until they settled on Lexa.

Running her hand back through her hair, combing it out with her fingers, Clarke sat upright on the couch again. She rubbed at her bleary eyes, still none the wiser as to what Lexa intended to do with her. If she wasn’t going to kill her, or lock her up, then what else was left?

“Lexa!” Dren lost the formal tone she’d had with the Commander in front of the other grounders. She threw her arms around the younger woman the second she stepped in to the room.

“Dren.” Lexa returned the embrace, albeit somewhat stiffly, as she glanced over at Clarke. She lowered her voice as she asked how the other girl was doing; though she needn’t have bothered, since they were both speaking in Trigedasleng. It only made it all the more obvious that they were discussing Clarke.

She was about to call them on it when the door opened again. Another grounder woman - this one closer to Clarke’s age - entered pushing a serving trolley. It was laden with food. The smell of roasted meats and freshly baked bread hit Clarke like a slap in the face. Her stomach growled louder than any pauna could. Lexa turned, and noticed her eying up the food as the server moved it to the small dining table.

“Eat.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. Clarke held fast though, her fingers digging in to the couch to stop her from launching herself at the tantalizing food. Living rough in the forest for a month had left her underfed and craving a decent meal, but she wouldn’t cave so easily. Clarke had little else, but she still had her pride.

“Klark…” Lexa let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging as she dipped her head. She suddenly seemed exhausted. As Clarke looked at her more closely she noticed the heavy circles around Lexa’s eyes. The slump of her shoulders. The almost pleading look on her face as she stared Clarke down. “Please… Just eat something.”

Clarke’s stomach grumbled in agreement with the Commander. Swallowing her pride, she scrambled off the couch as quickly as her injured shoulder would allow her to move. Lexa noticed how stiffly she was holding her arm. She would have to send for Lustig to check on Clarke later, and maybe prepare her a draft to help her sleep.

“She’s a skinny thing. A square meal will do her good.” Dren pointed out, slipping back in to English.  
“Hmm.” Lexa nodded. Clarke had her back to them as she picked at everything on the cart. Dren was right, a decent meal would do Clarke the world of good.

Lexa’s own stomach grumbled in protest. She would join Clarke at the table soon enough. First she had to speak to Dren in private. She pulled her aside, so that Varda, the maid who had brought them their supper would not overhear her.

“Clarke tried to kill me in the woods… Gunther and the others saw.”  
“Jok!” Dren swore out loud, catching Clarke’s attention. She offered her a motherly smile, holding it in place until the teenager finally looked away again. Dropping her voice, she asked, “What do you intend to do?”

“My hands are tied.” Lexa frowned. “To make an attempt on my life… there is only one way I can justify sparing hers.” Dren nodded in understanding. She could see Lexa’s predicament. As much as she admired and respected the Skaikru leader, she couldn’t allow the slight to pass by unpunished. Her people would see it as a sign of weakness.

“Good luck with that, Heda.” Dren smirked. She clapped Lexa on the back, before calling for Varda to accompany her as she left. Clarke watched them go, and swallowed the lump of meat in her mouth. Her throat suddenly felt dry as Lexa gave her a strange look.

“So what are you going to do with me? Death by a thousand cuts? Lock me in a hole somewhere? Feed me to a Reaper?” Clarke scoffed. It was easier to fake bravado with a full stomach.  
“You have a very vivid imagination, Clarke.” Lexa scorned. She unbuckled her shoulder plate, then shrugged off her floor length leather overcoat.

She craned her neck to the left, and then the right, with a satisfying crack. It was warm in the room, with the fire still roaring behind Clarke. Lexa unclipped the leather sash from around her waist, then untied her vambraces and pulled them off her arms. Clarke watched all this, wondering just how long it took the Commander to get ready in the morning.

Once all of her armor was off, Lexa tugged her long sleeved shirt over her head, revealing a form fitting tank top underneath it; as well as impressively muscular arms. Clarke’s eyes trailed over Lexa’s tattoos as she flexed her shoulders. As always, she seemed more at ease without anyone else around.

“So… What? I try to kill you, and you bring me all the way to Polis for dinner?” Clarke wasn’t buying it. “What’s going on? Why bring me here at all?”  
“Would you have preferred I left you in the forest?” Lexa demanded. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for a response. “Well?” She arched an eyebrow at her.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Clarke demanded, sidestepping her question. “If anyone else had tried to assassinate you-”  
“Yes, if anyone else had tried.” Lexa agreed, her voice tight as her eyes narrowed on the other girl. “Except it was hardly an assassination attempt. I was surrounded by my warriors and armed to the teeth.”

“You were alone, wielding a small dagger, and so malnourished that you could barely stand. That was not an attempt on my life, Clarke. You were trying to end your own.” Lexa answered, in a very matter of fact way. She waited for Clarke to argue, but the blond said nothing. She couldn’t even look her in the eye.

“You still haven’t answered my question. What do you intend to do to me?” Clarke could have sworn that she looked up to find Lexa’s eyes a darker shade of green than they had been before. Her tongue darted out across her dry lips, as those piercing eyes dipped down to them, and then trailed back up again.

“Eat.” Lexa instructed, dodging the question once again. She moved to the table where Varda had set out the spread of food. Pulling out a chair, she waited patiently for Clarke to sit. Once the other girl was settled, she took her own seat at the other end. They ate in a tense silence, the only sounds between them the click-clacking of cutlery.

Clarke played along for as long as it took to eat her way through two plates. Lexa put her share fair away too. For a small girl she had the appetite of a large warrior. Lexa knew what was coming as she stood up to get herself a drink. She’d only just reached the crystal decanter full of bourbon when Clarke finally gave up her silence.

“Lexa.” The sound of her name coming from Clark’s lips had the Commander taking a shuddering breath. “Tell me what’s going on. You don’t do anything without a plan.” Lexa didn’t answer right away. She poured herself a drink and took a sip. She didn’t bother offering Clarke one. Lustig would be along soon with a draft to help her sleep. The alcohol wouldn’t mix well with the medicine.

Lexa leaned back against the drinks cabinet, idly running her finger along the rim of the glass. “However childish your attempt on my life was, it can not go unpunished. If I allowed that then my people will see me as weak.”  
“It’s not like they can overthrow you.” Clarke pointed out. “Your spirit, or whatever, choose you as Heda. Right?”

“No. They cannot ‘overthrow me’. But they could decide to set my spirit free, to allow it to find a stronger Commander.” Lexa answered with a blank expression, like they were discussing what wine to have over dinner.  
“And by ‘set free’ you mean kill you?” Lexa nodded again.  
“Great. So either you kill me, or your people kill us both.”

“Nobody is killing either of us.” Lexa sounded certain about that. “I will not allow it… But there is only one way I can protect you.”  
“How?”

“By making you my Pellex.” Lexa answered plainly, her tongue wrapping around the foreign word with ease.  
“And what the hell is a Pellex?” Clarke demanded. She didn’t miss the way Lexa’s gaze dropped to her mouth again.

“A Pellex.” She started to answer, but was in no hurry to finish as she lifted her glass back up to her lips. “It is hard to translate.”  
“So try.”

“It is a companion… Of sorts.”  
“A companion? So your people will be cool with me trying to murder you if I stick around and be your gal pal. Is that what you’re saying? That makes no sense, Lexa!”  
“It is a little more than that.” The Commander admitted, while sheepishly glancing up at the ceiling; anywhere but at the icy blue eyes that were boring in to her. “The closest word in your language would be… Concubine.”

 

* * *

 

“How did things go with Clarke?” Dren asked as she caught Lexa coming down the main stairs. The question was rhetorical. She, along with the rest of the house, had heard Clarke screaming at the top of her voice for the last few minutes; followed by a heavy thud.

“She threw a candlestick at my head.” Lexa grumbled. “Thankfully, Clarke could not hit the ground if she were to fall out of a tree… She’ll calm down.” A second thud sounded from upstairs, followed by something crashing against the floor. Clarke had obviously discovered she was locked inside the room.

“Hmm, before or after she destroys your living quarters?” Dren teased. Lexa gave a frustrated sigh in response. Clarke was definitely the type to hold a grudge. “I could speak to her?” Offered Dren.

“Yes. Please.” Lexa nodded. Despite being Heda - and ruling over the twelve grounder tribes with an iron fist - the idea of going back in to her own room to face Clarke was a daunting one. Dren had been a fierce warrior back in her day, and she was still a formidable figure. If anyone was up to the task of calming Clarke Griffin down then it would be Dren.

The older woman climbed up the stairs to the second floor and followed the sounds of crashing and bagging to Lexa’s room. The key scraped in the old lock, announcing Dren’s arrival. The noise suddenly stopped, and the grounder knew exactly what was coming as she opened the door.

“ARRRRGGGHH!” A blur of blond hair rushed towards her. Clarke’s jaw was clenched shut as she wielded the same dented candlestick that she’d thrown at Lexa. It was held high above her head, like a primitive club. Dren disarmed her with ease, grabbing hold of the younger girl’s wrist and wrenching it so she dropped the candlestick.

Clarke let out another angry yell - this one of pain - as Dren wrestled her arm so far up behind her back that she was forced to drop to her knees. Dren waited for her to stop struggling before she released her hold on Clarke’s arm. “That was sloppy. A child could have done better.”

“Bite me!” Clarke spat out. She was still on her hands and knees, struggling to catch her breath back. A month of living hand to mouth had left her weaker than she would have liked to admit. Her pride refused to let her give in though. Pushing herself back up to her feet, she charged at the other woman for a second time.

Dren easily sidestepped the attack, sending Clarke crashing in to the overstuffed couch. She stayed right where she was, finally beaten. “I won’t do it… I won’t be her fucking slave.” Clarke shook her head, a mop of dirty blond hair falling in her eyes.

“A pellex is not a slave.” Dren corrected her. She took a seat beside Clarke. Her entire demeanor changed, with her posture relaxing and her voice taking on a softer lilt. “It is an honor.”  
“Yeah, right.” Clarke scoffed. “If it’s such an honour then you go be her fu-”

“I am a pellex, Clarke… Perhaps you did not understand Heda’s explanation. I am not a slave, or an object to be used. A pellex is companion to the Heda. They are second only to a wife.” The older woman tried to explain in a way that the arker would understand. “Lexa is not trying to make you her slave, Clarke. She is trying to save your life. Her men are loyal, but word of your attempt on her life will be out by morning. If you do not have a place at her side then she will not be able to protect you.”

“So, what, it’s not treason to try and kill the Heda if you’re her mistress?” Clarke sneered, though her objections weren’t quite as strong as they had been.  
“Something like that.” Dren agreed. “A pellex may be a lover, but that is not always the case. I was the wife of the previous Heda.”

“When his spirit passed on to the new commander she took me as her pellex so that I could stay on in my home. I mostly act as head of house, seeing to the staff and keeping the place running.”

Clarke nodded at that. Dren’s words seemed to be sinking in. She paused for a moment, before asking, “You believe that the Commander’s soul passes on from person to person, right?” It was Dren’s turn to nod.  
“So… are you and Lexa married? I mean if she was your husband in a past life or something…” While the sky people had learned some of the grounder customs, Clarke still wasn’t sure about their beliefs in reincarnation.

“No.” Dren laughed softly, her eyes warming to a softer hue. “Lexa was a young child when Jax was killed. She already had a soul, and a personality of her own. The Commander’s soul is immortal. It is passed from leader to leader. Lexa possesses a piece of my husband, and every Heda before him; but Jax was not just Heda. He was a man, and a husband and father too. Do you see?”

Clarke could see what she was saying. The idea of reincarnation was as foreign to the sky princess as keeping a concubine was, but Dren had a knack for explaining things. In the space of five minutes, Clarke had completely calmed down. The fight had left her, leaving her with only her exhaustion.

“Lexa’s offer is your only option, Clarke. Take some time - sleep on it - but you’re mind must be made up by morning.” Dren rose to her feet, offering Clarke a sympathetic smile as she placed a hand down on her shoulder. “Lexa has told me much about you, Clarke of the Sky People. It would be a shame to waste such a life.”

Dren stepped out of the room and locked the door behind her. Lexa was waiting for her just outside. She was clean faced, with her war paint washed off, and she’d stripped out of her armor. Without the trappings of the Commander, the teenager looked little more than a skinny slip of a girl.

Her tattooed arms were wrapped around her knees as she sat with them tucked up to her chest. She looked up at Dren with a forlorn expression. “How is she?”  
“Calmer.” The older grounder took a seat on the floor beside her Heda. “I think she will listen to reason.”  
“Huh.” Lexa let out a small laugh as she shook her head. “Clarke and reason do not go hand in hand.”

“Give her time, Heda.” Dren patted Lexa’s knee affectionately. She had known the girl since she’d been chosen to be Commander, back when Lexa had been too young to rule on her own. She’d had advisers until she’d reached puberty, and Dren had been one of them. She and Gustus had influenced Lexa more than anyone else in her life. If she said to give Clarke time then that was what she would do.  
  
Lexa took a deep, calming, breath before she turned the key in the lock of her bedroom door. It creaked and groaned in protest. Lexa couldn’t remember the last time she had ever needed to lock it; at least not from the outside. She was met with silence as the door swung in-wards. The room was seemingly empty.

Remembering Clarke’s trick with the Pauna, Lexa promptly shut the door behind her. The latch engaged with an audible click. “Clarke?” The Commander called out her name like a warning. She’d managed only a couple of hours sleep at most. Every time she’d nodded off she’d wound up waking with a star. Clarke wasn’t the only one with demons that haunted her.

“Clarke, I am in no mood for games.” Lexa let out a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose. A niggling headache was starting just behind her left eye. The sun was barely up, but already the streets of Polis were awash with rumors of the Sky Heda’s attempt on the Commander’s life. It wouldn’t be long before her generals were baying for Clarke’s blood. “We do not have time for this.”

Lexa’s growl of frustration was met by empty silence. There was no way out of the room. The heavy wooden door had been locked from the outside and there were metal bars at the two windows. The room had previously been used for holding prisoners before court appearances. There was no way Clarke could have gotten out. So she had to still be inside; somewhere.

Lexa stood still and silent in the centre of the room. She calmed her breathing and focused on filtering out the noise from outside. Lexa was as skilled a hunter as she was a fighter. When she put her mind to it, it didn’t take long for her to hone in on the soft whimpering sounds coming from under the bed. It was a four-poster bed, made of sturdy wrought iron and draped in silk voile curtains. There were furs and blankets piled on to the bed, but they were undisturbed. Clarke hadn’t slept in the bed.

Lexa wasn’t wearing any weaponry or armor, which made it easier to stoop to her knees and bend down to peer under the bed. Clarke was curled up in a ball, a mess of blond hair falling over her face like a veil. She was shaking, and whimpering softly. From the way she was mumbling to herself and swatting at the air, Lexa could hazard a guess that Clarke’s demons had caught up to her.

“Clarke? Clarke!” Lexa reached out for her, making Clarke jump. She let out a scream and scrambled backwards. Wild blue eyes locked on to Lexa’s as Clarke slowly came to her senses.  
“Lexa…” She croaked out, her throat dry and raw from spending the night screaming at thin air. She blinked once, then twice, trying to clear the fog that had descended over her.

“You’re safe.” Lexa made a show of lying down on the ground, flat on her stomach, with her head resting on her arm. She reached out slowly with her other arm, approaching Clarke like a wounded animal. “Clarke, you are safe. You can come out now.” It took some gentle coaxing, but the teenager eventually crawled back out from under the bed.

Clarke looked exhausted. The heavy circles lining her eyes seemed to have doubled in size overnight. Her head listed from side to side as she sat by the side of the bed, leaning back against the metal frame. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back off her face. “Sorry… Sorry, I… I get cabin fever whenever… Whenever I’m locked in somewhere.”  
“That is understandable.” Lex sat across from her, crossed-leg on the floor.

“Understandable?” Clarke snapped at her. “Understandable? You don’t know the first thing-” She stood up too quickly, and almost crashed straight back down again. Lexa moved to help her, but was shoved for her trouble. “Don’t touch me!” The stubborn blond huffed out as she clung to one of the bedposts to help right herself. Lexa took a step back, keeping her palms up like she was warding off a wild animal.

Clarke flopped back down to the ground with a thud, wincing as her tail-bone slammed off the hardwood floor. “I’d rather die than be kept locked up.”  
“Those are strong words.” Lexa admonished. She watched Clarke closely, taking in the way she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. Her eyes kept darting towards the door.

After a pregnant silence, Clarke finally spoke again. “Back home… I was a prisoner. My Dad found out the Ark was running out of air. We tried to warn people, to do the right thing, and it got him killed. I was locked away. In solitary confinement… That’s when I first started hearing my Dad’s voice. It got easier when I got to the ground, but then after Mt Weather… There are so many…” Clarke’s eyes held the same glassy look they’d been wearing when Lexa had first found her hiding under the bed. “So many people are dead, because of me.”

“And many more live.” Lexa argued. She moved slowly, covering the other girl’s trembling hands with her own. “The voices will quieten once more. I promise you that, Clarke. Stay. Not as my prisoner. As an honored guest… Let me help you.”  
  
“Like you helped at the mountain?” Clarke sneered, lifting her gaze up to defiantly meet Lexa’s. Unshed tears shimmered in them, along with unspoken accusation. Lexa stared back at her, long and hard, until Clarke finally looked away first. “Fine. I’ll stay. I’ll be your Pellex, or whatever the hell it is you want me to be... Just let me out of this damn room!”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to put a note in the first chapter, but this is only my second outing in to The 100 fandom, and I still have the end of season 2 to watch, so apologies for any inaccuracies, or out-of-character-ness. Also, I'm British, so sometimes spellings/word choice might reflect that. 
> 
> Many thanks for reading, and for all the kudos and comments!

  
“She’ll run the first chance she gets.” Dren spoke in a quiet murmur, so as not to be overheard by Clarke. She was at the other end of the banqueting table, flanked by two of the largest grounders she had ever seen. Clarke paid them no attention. She was too busy shoveling porridge in to her mouth. It was her second bowl. The table was lined with fresh fruit, nuts, berries and still warm bread. Clarke had sampled it all. Her stomach felt fit to burst, but she kept on eating.

“I’d be disappointed if she didn’t.” Lexa agreed with a simple nod of her head. “I’ve called a meeting with the generals. I need you to watch Clarke while I’m gone… Show her the city. Don not lock her away.”

“Sha Heda.” Dren agreed. “I think I can keep her busy for a few hours.”  
“Just try to keep her out of trouble.” It was a big ask, but if anyone could manage it, it would be Dren.

Lexa had already finished eating, but she waited patiently for Clarke to finish before standing up. Clarke’s head snapped up as she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She was like a wounded animal, apprehensive at every sound and weary of any sudden movements.

Lexa was aware of the other eyes on the room on her as well. She tilted her head back, squaring up her jaw as she cleared her throat and addressed Clarke in a clipped tone. “I have many things to do. Dren will mind you today.”

“Mind?” Clarke quirked a single eyebrow, glaring daggers at the Commander. Lexa’s jaw tightened anxiously. She could accept Clarke’s disrespect in private, but it was another matter altogether to question her in public. By the grace of some higher power, Clarke seemed to grasp this. She dropped her gaze and huffed out a, “Fine.”

Lexa felt a flood of relief at not being challenged by the other girl. She expected to have to fight Clarke every step of the way. “Good.” She nodded. “Farewell Clarke.”  
“Leidon, Heda.” Clarke surprised the Commander a second time as she bid her farewell in the grounder tongue. The aggression in her tone was obvious, but at least she was making an effort to fit in with Lexa’s people. Lexa nodded back at her, a small smile gracing her lips.

She clapped Dren on the shoulder, trusting her to look after Clarke in her absence. “Watch her closely.” She murmured under her breath, keeping her expression neutral. Clarke watched her leave, accompanied by the two big grounders that had been guarding the Sky Princess.

“I guess it’s back up to the locked room.” Clarke sighed, not believing for a second that Lexa would let her outside with only Dren to watch her.  
“You can go back upstairs if you want. It’s a nice day though. I’d much rather go down to the market.”  
“Seriously?” Clarke looked skeptical. “Aren’t you worried I’ll try and run away?” Dren shrugged at that, moving with the grace of a feral cat as she stood up from the table.  
“Where would you go?”

Despite her pleasant tone, and the motherly smile that went with it, the question still stung. Clarke didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. They both knew she’d left everything behind when she’d walked out on her people. Dren’s tone softened as she walked over to where Clarke was sat and knelt down in front of her. Taking Clarke’s hands in her own, she said, “You have a place here, Clarke. You are home now.”  


  
Clarke had thought Polis had been bustling the night before, but it paled in comparison to the hustle and bustle of the city during the mid morning. The second they stepped foot out of the courthouse the sights and sounds of the city overwhelmed the Arker.

There were market stalls and vendors lining the streets, selling everything from fresh meats to wooden carvings and animal furs. Despite already being fit to burst, the tantalizing smell of roast meats practically had Clarke drooling.

The streets were packed. Like the wares being sold on the stalls, the people varied in shapes, sizes, color and creed. Some were dressed in warrior garb, while others were dressed in bright colored tunics and cloaks. Clarke felt self-conscious about the holes in the knees of her leggings and the ripped sleeve of her jacket. The items had been cleaned for her by Lexa’s staff, but they still looked worse for wear after a month of rough living. Clarke found herself wishing she hadn’t turned down Lexa’s offer of some fresh clothes.

Dren seemed to pick up on her anxieties about the crowd, moving to link her arm in to Clarke’s; keeping the younger woman close to her side. The hushed whispers and outright stares that had followed her the night before were back. They had nothing to do with her shabby appearance.

“Skai Heda!”  
“Skaikru…”  
“Maun-de…”

Clarke kept her head down and her eyes on her feet as she trudged along, trusting Dren to lead her. The staring and the whispering followed them throughout the market. “They have heard of your victory against the Mountain.” Dren explained, noticing Clarke’s unease.  
“I’d hardly call mass murder a victory.”

“The Mountain men were murderers too, Clarke. Do not let your guilt color the past.” Dren chided. “There is also talk of your attempt on the Heda’s life. They wonder why you still live.”  
“They’re not the only ones.” Clarke grumbled. She rubbed at the back of her neck, risking a glance around the crowded market. Every pair of eyes seemed to be on her.

Dren stopped abruptly, causing Clarke to walk in to her. The other woman was slight in stature, but she was made of solid muscle. Clarke would have fallen on her ass had their arms not still been linked. Dren lowered her voice, wary of being overheard in the crowded market. “Lexa cares deeply for you, Clarke. You and I both know that. You are alive because she has done everything in her power to keep you that way.”

“That doesn’t make up for what she did!” Clarke hissed back. Dren had been nothing but nice to her, but she wasn’t about to stand there and be lectured about how grateful she should be for the Heda’s act of mercy. Clarke wasn’t stupid enough to think that Lexa had acted solely for her benefit. There had to be something in it for the Commander too. That was, after all, how Lexa operated.

Her grounder minder gave out a frustrated sigh as she released Clarke’s arm. “Lexa did what she had to… Like I said, Clarke. The Commander is only one part of Lexa. Just because she did something for the good of her people, that does not mean it did not pain her to turn her back on you. She is trying to make amends.”

“Yeah, well, tell her not to bother.” Clarke huffed out, crossing her arms over her chest. “I will never forgive her for what she did. I don’t care if it was the Commander or Lexa. Either way, she turned her back on our deal. On my people… On me.”

Clarke felt uneasy as she took in all the pairs of eyes that seemed to watch her from around the marketplace. It was all too much. The staring and pointing. The hushed whispers. The crowds bustling around them. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go back. Take me back.”

Clarke kept her arms wrapped around herself in a childish attempt to shield herself from Dren’s probing gaze. She dutifully led Clarke back to the courthouse that served as the Commander’s palace. Lexa had ordered her not to lock Clarke away, so instead of going back up to Lexa’s room she ushered Clarke in to one of the rooms on the ground floor. As expected, Clarke’s eyes lit up at the sight of the room.

Shelves lined all three of the four walls from floor to ceiling. Each wall was covered in endless rows of books. The volumes varied in size and shape. Some were well-read and had cracked spines and yellowing pages, while others looked more well kept. Clarke’s jaw hung open as she ran her fingers over the spine of the nearest book.

She had assumed that the grounders had shunned books, and the pursuit of knowledge, in favor of more physical pursuits. Clarke hadn’t even known any of them could read English. “We’re not all brutes with rocks in our heads.” Dren caught her staring at the books and could guess what she was thinking. “Heda spends much of her free time here.”

Clarke was almost tempted to walk out, but she wasn’t about to cut off her nose to spite her face. The library, if it could be called that, was loosely organized. Titles of similar interests were grouped together, but that was where the order broke down. Clarke’s fingers skimmed over a book on the Impressionists, before moving on to a book about Post-Modernism. Her eyes hungrily drank in all of the titles that she could spend hours losing herself in.

Clarke jumped as she felt a hand on the small of her back. It had been so long since she’d spent any time around other people that unexpected contact spooked her. Dren shot her an apologetic smile. “Why don’t I leave you to it? I’ll be nearby if you need anything.” She started moving towards the door, but stopped when Clarke called out.  
“Dren?”  
“Yes, Clarke?”

“You’re not going to lock me in here, right?” Clarke was suspicious, and rightly so. She’d spent the night locked up in Lexa’s room. Regardless of what they called it - Pellex or prisoner - Clarke was under no illusion that she was free to roam around the city as she pleased. Lexa may have been happy to give her the appearance of some freedoms, but Clarke doubted those liberties would stretch very far.

“Of course not.” The older woman gave her a patient smile, the kind of look she would give to a child. “You are not a prisoner, Clarke. There will be no more locked doors.”  
“Just big guys with swords.” The teenager replied dryly to Dren’s retreating form.

 

* * *

 

“Sky-Commander’s brazen attempt on Heda’s life can not be allowed to stand!”  
“Sky People have taken the lives of too many of us! Something must be done!”  
“We can not forget that the Sky-Commander took down the mountain-”  
“This does not entitle her to make an attempt on the Comannder’s life!”  
“Blood must have blood!”

Lexa’s generals were assembled in her throne chamber, in what used to be court room 1. There were fifteen of them in total, all talking over one another in thick Trigedasleng. Lexa was starting to get a headache. A slight throbbing pain that had started out behind her left eye was threatening to develop in to a full blown migraine.

The journey back to Polis had exhausted her. Not to mention that every inch of ground she had claimed with Clarke had been hard won. She’d spent the night on the floor outside of her own room, guarding the door and keeping vigil over Clarke. A night on the cold hard floor, after a week of sleeping in the forest, had left her limbs heavy and aching. The Commander was a young woman in her prime, but at the moment she felt like an aging monarch at the end of her reign.

As predicted, word of Clarke’s assassination attempt - however poorly planned and executed - had spread through the city, reaching the ears of her generals. Most were chosen from Trikru, Lexa’s own clan, but a representative from every tribe was gathered, with the Commander sitting at the head of the table. Their bickering was quickly escalating from mildly annoying to infuriating.

“Enough!” The Commander slammed her hand down against the hardwood table, making the representative of the Boat People jump. The general from Floukru was a quiet woman, who seldom spoke at any of their council meetings. She was thin and lanky, with beady eyes and the general appearance of a heron. Lexa couldn’t recall her name, and she didn’t care to try. She had more important matters at hand. She sat a little straighter in her chair.

“That is enough!” she cast a severe glare around the room, killing off any remaining chatter that there had been after her first outburst. “I did not call you all here for your opinions! I have taken Clarke of the Sky People as my Pellex-” There was an uproar of loud whispering as Lexa’s announcement settled over the room.

She gave them all a few moments, while she ground her teeth in an attempt to ignore the pulsing pain in her head. Raising her hand in the air to draw everyone’s attention, Lexa once more commanded silence over the room. “Clarke was directly responsible for the freeing of our people from the Mountain, as well as the annihilation of our enemy. We owe Clarke and the Sky People much. Such victory did not come without a price. Her mind is troubled by the spirits of the dead.”

“As such, she was not responsible for her actions when she attempted to attack me. Under any other circumstances her treason would be met with death; but as I have taken her as my Pellex, she is untouchable by all. No one may touch Clarke of the Sky People without my consent, and I will not allow any harm to come to her. Is that understood?” There was a hardness to her tone as Lexa looked each of her generals in the eye in turn. Some twisted their faces, or muttered under their breath, but all nodded in agreement. “That is all. You are dismissed.”

Lexa let out a sigh of relief as the generals all rose as one and bowed to her. They started filing out of the room, until only a handful of Trikru generals remained. Lexa had worried that they would challenge her decision not to punish Clarke for her treachery. Had the leader of the Sky people not rid them of such a dangerous enemy, there would have been little Lexa could have done to save her.

As Lexa’s eyes closed over the pounding in her head grew stronger. She was going to have to see a healer for a draft, lest she spent the rest of the afternoon with her head buried under the blankets on her bed. Somehow, Lexa doubted that would be a possibility. She opened her eyes to find Indra watching her closely.

The older warrior had made her feelings on Clarke and the Sky People in general very clear; though she seemed to have a weak spot for the one they called Octavia. That one had had the makings of a fine warrior. Much like Clarke, she possessed a spark inside of her. Something that, despite giving them many trials, life had been simply unable to beat out of them.

“Is there any point in my advising you against this, Heda?” The battle at the mountain - as well as losing her second - had taken its toll on Indra. Her eyes were sunken and glassy. She had yet more fine lines around the corners of her mouth, as well as those engraved deeply around her eyes.

“No.” Lexa answered firmly. She left no room for arguments or second guessing. She had made up her mind to spare Clarke’s life. If there was any fall out from that, then Lexa would be the one to shoulder that burden. Indra nodded, bowing slightly in submission to the Heda.  
“Her people search for her. Should we inform them-”

“No.” Lexa answered again, a little too quickly for her own liking. At least Indra had the good grace to ignore the desperation in the Commander’s voice and drop her gaze to the ground. “Clarke chose to leave her people behind… Her mind is still fragile. She needs rest.”  
“As you wish, Heda.” Indra departed with another bow, dragging along her new second with her. He was a lump of a boy, barely old enough to have stubble on his chin. He was a far cry from Indra’s previous second.

Perhaps that was the point.

Lexa lingered at the table a while longer, like a specter that refused to move on. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, trying to stop her headache from spreading. She felt more tired and run down than she ever had after even the most fierce of battles. That was what Clarke did to her. The other girl somehow seemed to drain her dry and yet fill her whole at the same time. It was confusing and irksome, and Lexa had no idea how to make it stop.

Her heart had ached after turning her back on Clarke at the mountain, but her head had known it was the right thing for her people. She was the Commander. Above all else she was charged with the welfare and prosperity of her people; even if that came at such a high personal cost.

She savored the silence for a while longer, before venturing off to find Clarke and Dren. She asked the guards standing by the front entrance, and was directed to the kitchen. What had previously been the small cafeteria and adjoining kitchen of the court house had been converted in to one large kitchen.

The worktops, which had once been shining stainless steel, were now a dull, muted grey. The ovens and all the rest of the electrical appliances had long since been ripped out, replaced by iron agars, fire pits and heavy iron pots and pans.

Dren was stood by a stove, stirring a large vat of what smelled like rabbit stew. As the wife of the previous Commander, and a former warrior herself, Dren had not been expected to learn how to cook. It was one of her few enjoyable pastimes though, and she had taken over the running of Lexa’s household when the teenager had ascended to Commander.

“Taste this!” Dren shoved a ladle full of soup right under Lexa’s nose. The pungent smell was too much. Her stomach was rolling as she pushed it away.  
“Headache?” Dren guessed correctly, knowing just how nauseous she got when she was suffering from a migraine. “I told you to take my bed last night. The Commander of the twelve tribes should not be sleeping on the floor.” She made a tsk tsk sound as she childed the younger girl. There were few people who would ever dare to speak to the Commander like that.

Lexa rolled her eyes. Despite only being eight summers older than Lexa, Dren sometimes acted like a mother hen to her. “Then it is a good thing I did not sleep.” Lexa answered with a huff. Her eyes scanned the workers in the kitchen, looking for the tell tale shock of blond hair. “Where is Clarke? I asked that she not be locked away-”

“Which is why I took her to the market. She got panicky and I brought her back.” Dren answered defensively. “I think we may need some more drafts from Lustig. At least to help her sleep.” Lexa nodded in agreement. Clarke’s troubles weren’t likely to disappear over night. It would take time and patience.

“And ask him for something for my head.” Lexa let out a heavy sigh. Her exhaustion was threatening to overtake her. As Commander she was meant to appear infallible at all times. It would not do to have her people see her wincing in pain. Dren moved to put her hand on Lexa’s arm, quietly catching her attention.  
“I left Clarke in the library. She’ll be fine there for the afternon. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll have you called for before supper.”

“I can not.” Lexa shook her head. Trying, and failing, to shake off the pain she felt there. “I should speak with Clarke. There is still much to say-”  
“And plenty of time for it to be said.” Dren insisted, henpecking at the younger girl until she agreed to go take a nap. “I will look after Clarke. You have my word, Heda.”  
“Thank you, Dren.” Lexa clapped her on the shoulder, grateful to have such a loyal friend. As Heda, genuine friends were few and far between. “Have me woken before dark.”

Lexa made her way upstairs to her private quarters. She stripped off her long coat, kicked off her boots and peeled off her leggings, leaving her in her underwear and tunic. She had no need for weapons inside of her own home. There were plenty of warriors walking around the place, tasked with the single goal of keeping their Commander safe. Despite this, Lexa’s hand slipped down the small space between the headboard and the wall. Her fingers grazed against cold steel.

Satisfied that her hidden blade was right where she’d left it, Lexa lay down and pulled a thin blanket over herself. Winter was fast approaching, with the trees being stripped of their leaves, but the air was unseasonably warm. She would sleep for an hour. No more than that. She just needed to sleep off the aching pain in her head.

 

* * *

 

“Urgh…” Lexa let out a small gasp as a heavy weight landed on her chest, rousing her from her fitful sleep. She struggled to take a breath with something hard pressing firmly against her throat. Her eyes snapped open to find Clarke straddling her chest. She had a blunt butter knife clenched in her fist and pressed painfully against Lexa’s wind pipe. Her hand was shaking, but there was a manic kind of determination in her cold, blue, eyes.

“Clarke…” Lexa’s voice came out hoarse, due in part to the knife pressed against her throat. Her mind was groggy with sleep, but it was quickly clearing. Imminent danger to her life had a tendency to have that effect on her. “Clarke.” She tried again to get her attention, but for all Clarke was hovering above her, her eyes were glassy and she seemed to be staring right through Lexa.

Her eyes darted to the left, as though listening to some unheard voice. Lexa swallowed hard, feeling the blunt edge of the knife digging in to the soft flesh of her throat. Although not very sharp, the knife could still do a lot of damage in the right hands. “Clarke!” Lexa snapped again, belaying a confidence that she wasn’t actually feeling. “That is enough!” Raising her voice brought Clarke back in to the room with her. She blinked, as though dazed at finding herself straddling the Coammander.

“I… I have to make it stop… Wells… Wells said he’ll leave me alone if-” Clarke’s gaze kept darting to the side, watching some figure that only she could see. “I need to make it stop. Please, Lexa… Please make it stop…” Lexa moved cautiously, slowly bringing her left hand up to cup Clarke’s chin; while the other hand reached back for her own knife.

“We will make the voices stop, Clarke. I promise you that.” Lexa spoke in a low and steady tone, not wanting to spook the other girl. Her thumbed moved slowly, softly caressing the side of her cheek. “You are unwell, let me help you. Put down the knife, Clarke.” Clarke stiffened, the knife in her hand pressing down all the more firmly against Lexa’s throat.

Beneath her, the Commander was patiently asking her to hand over the knife. To her left, Wells was stood by the side of the bed. The deep gash in the side of his throat was open and bleeding, the skin around it grey and ragged. He rarely appeared like this to Clarke, not unless he wanted something from her. “Do it, Clarke!” He hissed, his voice filled with a kind of rage that he hadn’t possessed in life. “Kill her! Kill the bitch before she kills you!”

“Clarke, listen to me!” Lexa commanded, her grip closing on the hilt of her knife. She didn’t want to have to use it, but if it came down to it she would. “Whatever you’re seeing, or hearing, it isn’t real. The dead are gone, Clarke. You still live… Just put down the knife and we will forget all about this…”

“You know she’s lying!” Wells growled. “She’s just waiting to execute you! To make an example of you! Do it! Do it now!”|  
“No!” Clarke snarled out, making Lexa tense. She wasn’t sure just who Clarke was addressing. The second she turned to look at the apparition, Lexa pounced.

Switching their positions, she flipped Clarke over on to her stomach and yanked her arm up behind her back. The younger girl let out a scream of indignation and started trying to thrash back against her. Lexa shoved her knee between Clarke’s shoulder blades to keep her still, and continued to squeeze her wrist until she finally let go of the knife.

“Easy. Easy…” Lexa moved slowly, withdrawing her knee from Clarke’s back and moving to lay most of her weight against her as she eased Clarke’s arms out to the side, pinning them by the wrists. “Calm yourself, Clarke.” She muttered softly against the side of Clarke’s ear, riding out the last of her resistance.

Clarke eventually fell still, just as one of the guards opened the door to wake the Commander. Seeing his supreme leader pinning her pellex to the bed, he abruptly turned around and barked out, “Apologies, Heda!” His sudden appearance, and gruff voice, set Clarke off again. She started thrashing around in an attempt to dislodge Lexa from her back.

“Clarke!” Lexa growled out, more frustrated at the guard than at the teenager. “You! Give me your belt!” She called out over her shoulder for the guard; who complied without question.  
“Sha, Heda!” His fingers fumbled over the buckle, before he eventually pulled the long leather strip free from his trousers. He handed it to Lexa with an almost sheepish expression.

Lexa set straight to work tugging Clarke’s hands up behind her back and securing them with the belt. “Fetch Lustig, the healer!” She barked at the oblivious guard. He suddenly seemed to realize that he hadn’t inadvertently walked in on an intimate moment. Happy that Lexa had the struggling blond under control, he ran for the door, shouting out for Lustig to be called for.

“Heda?” Dren had heard all of the commotion from downstairs and rushed up to Lexa’s room. She paused at the door, unsure of what it was she was seeing. Her indecision lasted only moments.  
“Help me with her!” Lexa was breathing hard from wrestling Clarke under control. Dren moved to take Lexa’s place atop of Clarke, allowing the Commander to roll to the side and catch her breath.

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of Clarke struggling against her bindings. The Commander winced and closed her eyes over, just for a second. The searing pain behind her left eye had definitely developed in to a full blown migraine.


	4. Chapter 4

  
“She’s sleeping now.” Dren closed the door of the library behind her as she slipped inside, updating Lexa on Clarke’s condition. “Lustig is preparing more draft. She’ll need to take it morning and night to keep her calm… I am sorry, Heda.”

Lexa, who had only been half listening, turned to face her. She was curled up in one of the wingback chairs, and had been there for close to an hour, waiting for news. “What for?” She frowned, not following Dren’s line of thought.

The older woman looked down at the ground, unable to meet her Commander’s gaze. “I only told the guards to stop Clarke leaving the building. I should have been more careful with your safety. I should not have left her unaccompanied-”

“Dren…” Lexa let out a heavy sigh. She had enough on her mind without worrying about her friend’s sense of guilt. “It was not your fault. The mistake was mine. I should have known how unstable she was.”   
“Heda-”

“Please do not ask me if I am sure what I am doing is right.” Lexa closed her eyes and took a breath before opening them again, centering herself. “I honestly do not know. All that I do know is that I owe Clarke. I left her…” Lexa’s voice cracked up. She had to clear her throat before continuing. “I turned my back on her once. I can not allow that to happen a second time.”

“I understand.” Dren nodded. She moved to sit in the chair beside Lexa’s. Pulling out a small glass vial, she handed it over to the younger girl. “For your headache.”   
“Thank you.” Lexa pocketed the vial. She would take it later. The last one had made her drowsy, and that was something she couldn’t afford.

“Have the room next to mine set up for Clarke. For tonight she will stay in mine.” Lexa slipped her legs out from under her and stood. She tried to stretch out the crick in her neck as she arched her back. She was in for another long night on the floor.

The same guard who had given Lexa his belt earlier was stood just inside of her room, standing watch over the unconscious teen lying in Lexa’s bed. Dren had made her more comfortable, removing the belt from around her wrists. She had replaced it with a length of cloth, which she’d tied around Clarke’s wrists and then looped through one of the bed posts. She would not be very happy about it come morning, but it would stop her from making a third attempt on Lexa’s life.

The Commander took a seat in the rattan chair by her bed, quietly settling herself in for the night. Dren had tried to coax her in to eating something earlier in the night, but she’d point blank refused. She’d had no appetite before Clarke had attacked her. She rubbed absently at her throat. There was an angry red mark from where the butter knife had been pressed against it, but otherwise she’d been left relatively unscathed.

  
Clarke woke with a start. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and her eyes stung with the light. She instinctively moved to cover them with her arm, but it only reached so far before it stopped and there was a sharp tug on her wrist. “What the…” She carefully cracked her eyes open.

Most of the night before was a blur to her, but she did remember finding herself straddling Lexa with a knife to her throat. Wells had told her it was the right thing to do. Growing up on the Ark, her best friend had been like a moral compass. Which was why Clarke trusted what he had to say. She’d walked in to Lexa’s room the previous afternoon and found her sleeping soundly. She didn’t know where the knife had come from. She certainly didn’t remember picking it up at breakfast and slipping it in to her pocket.

Clarke knew the apparitions she saw weren’t real. She knew they were the product of her overly damaged psyche. A symptom of illness deep in her mind; but knowing they weren’t real didn’t make them any easier to ignore. She ran her tongue over her dry, cracked lips. Her mouth tasted like clay and salt, no doubt thanks to the draft Lustig had forced down her throat the night before. She coughed, her throat feeling like sandpaper.

“Clarke?” Lexa sat up in the chair she’d fallen asleep in. Her whole body seemed to ache all at once. She reached up to tie her hair back, her expression surprisingly neutral for someone who was addressing the person who had tried to kill her, not once, but twice. “How are you feeling?”   
“Thirsty.” Clarke croaked out. She longingly stared after the water pitcher by the bed.

Lexa obliged. Rising gracefully to her bed, she took the pitcher and poured out a glass. She held it out in front of her, making no move to cut her bindings. “So much for not being your prisoner.” Clarke huffed, though only after she’d taken a long drink.   
“So much for not trying to kill me anymore.” Lexa shot back at her. Clarke was about to bite back, when she realised Lexa was actually smiling.

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed her pride. “I… The hallucinations, they seem so real. And they’re only getting worse. I can't make them stop.”   
“Not alone.” Lexa agreed. Happy that Clarke was lucid enough, she reached for the knife hidden behind her headboard and used it to cut loose one of Clarke’s wrists. “But we can fight this Clarke. You can be well again.” Turning the knife over, Lexa held it out by the blade, offering the hilt up to Clarke.

She eyed it warily, like Lexa was holding out a live snake to her. She moved slowly to take it, grasping the ornate wooden handle tightly. Holding it in her hand, she stared at it for a moment, then looked back up at Lexa. “It’s probably not a good idea to give someone who’s tried to kill you a knife.”

“You are not my enemy, Clarke. I have no need to fear you. Nor you I.” Lexa covered Clarke’s hand with her own and guided it to the binding on her other wrist. “I will help you. If you will let me?” The knife sliced easily through the fabric, freeing Clarke’s other arm. She dropped the knife on the bed beside her and brought both of her arms up to her chest, wrapping them protectively around herself.   
“I’m not sure I can keep fighting. I was done, Lexa. I was out. I can’t-”

“I can.” Lexa reached up to cup Clarke’s chin, tilting her head back to look at her. Her gaze was piercing. Clarke couldn’t hold it, but at the same time she couldn’t look anywhere else. “I will fight hard for both of us Clarke. I will keep you safe… If you will allow it.” Something in Clarke crumpled at that. She shot forward, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s neck. The other girl tensed for a second, assessing whether this was another ploy or an assassination attempt. Clarke wasn’t trying to strangle her though, she sagged against the front of Lexa, burying her head in to her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

  
“Any headaches? Nausea? Voices? Mania?” Lustig peered down a long roman nose, squinting at Clarke’s unblinking eyes. His gruff voice somehow still managed to come out kind and patient. Clarke shook her head at him. She was sitting on the edge of Lexa’s bed, letting the healer look her over.

“None.” Clarke answered honestly. The voices were silent. She hadn’t seen any more of the dead since taking Lustig’s draft to help her sleep. The concoction had taken the edge off, leaving her lightheaded and drowsy. “My throat’s dry. That’s it.”   
“To be expected.” Lustig nodded down at her, still peering at her blown pupils. “Take the medicine every night before you sleep. You are exhausted. Your mind needs time to heal itself.”

Lexa stood over the pair, her arms crossed and a serious expression on her young face. “I have decided to put off announcing Clarke as my Pellex until she is well enough.”   
“The people know she is here, Heda. They are restless.” Lustig scratched at his balding head, offering Lexa a hesitant smile. “I would not put off her unveiling for too much longer.”   
“Thank you.” Lexa nodded, taking his advice on board. She ushered him towards the door, thanking him for his help even as she shoved him out of her room.

Clarke looked impossibly small, sitting curled up on Lexa’s bed with her head in her hands. It was clear she was crumbling in on herself. There was little physical relief for maladies of the mind. All Lexa could do was ensure that Clarke received enough food and rest, and air. She would not allow someone so great to waste away in darkness.

Squaring up her shoulders, she rounded on the other girl. “There’s a pale of fresh water in the bathroom. Get cleaned up and dressed. Dren will have breakfast ready by now.”   
“I’m not hungry.” Clarke huffed. She rolled on to her side and faced away from Lexa. The Commander pursed her lips and strode forward, grabbing hold of Clarke’s leg and yanking her to the edge of the of the bed.

“Hey! What the hell?” Clarke scrambled to sit up right. A familiar rage burning in her eyes. Lexa could work with that rage. She could use it and channel it. A despondent, sulking, Clarke was something she had no use for.   
“I was not asking, Clarke. Up. Now.”

Clarke grumbled something inaudible under her breath, but still did as she was told and stood up. Her legs felt like jelly and she stumbled on her way to the bathroom. Lexa moved to help her, but was met with a scowl and a not so gentle shove. “I’ve got it!”  
“As you wish.” Lexa stood leaning against the wooden door frame, waiting a whole ten minutes for Clarke to emerge.

When she finally did, she was fresh faced and with her hair tied back. She was wearing the same clothes she had been for weeks. Even if they’d been washed, they had still seen better days. Lexa thought about offering her some of her own clothes, but decided against it. Clarke would more than likely throw the gesture back in her face.

Lexa would have someone see to getting Clarke a wardrobe of her own. She’d had word the room next door had been set up for her guest, so at least Lexa would be able to sleep in her own bed later.

“So, Heda, who’s ‘minding’ me today?” Clarke asked as she followed after Lexa down the main staircase.   
“I am.” Lexa answered without looking back at her. “I will be showing you around the city.”   
“Can’t wait.” Replied Clarke, in a dry, sarcastic, tone. She had been weak and vulnerable when she’d first woken, but now her guard was back up and she was being her usual surly self with the Commander.

“Heda… Clarke.” Dren greeted them with a wary look as they walked in to the dining room. The table was set up much the same as it had been the morning before. Despite insisting on not being hungry, Clarke took a seat and immediately picked up a fresh bread roll; while eying up a plate of bacon.

Dren shot a worried look at the Commander, clearly questioning her sanity. Lexa sent her a glare back, and they carried on their silent conversation like that for a few tense moments. “Want me to leave? That way you two can talk about me out loud.”

“That will not be necessary.” Lexa scolded. She’d obviously won their silent disagreement. “I will be taking Clarke in to the city. I would like you to accompany us Dren.”   
“Sha, Heda.” Dren nodded obediently. She still didn’t look happy about Clarke being out and about, but at least the invitation to join them had seemed to appease her some. “I’ll fetch her a cloak.”

  
Clarke pulled the hood of the borrowed cloak further down her face, following Dren and Lexa’s lead. She had expected an escort through the city, along with a ton of fanfare. Instead, the three of them had slipped out the back way, down an alley and out in to the crowd. There was something almost liberating about being just another face in the crowd.

Lexa was upfront, leading them to their destination, while Dren brought up the rear. She stood close behind Clarke, keeping a hand on her back in case she decided to bolt. The material of the cloak was scratchy against her skin, and it weighed a tonne. Even with the light breeze, Clarke was sweating under the weight of it.

She picked up her pace, catching up to Lexa. “Where are we going anyway?”   
“To show you Polis.” Lexa answered without turning or slowing down. She did offer out her hand though. Clarke begrudgingly took it; if only to get Dren off her back. Lexa’s grip was strong and firm as she led Clarke through the crowded market. The sights and sounds didn’t seem so overwhelming to her wih Lexa’s hand in her own.

The crowded city streets were bustling with noise and activity. Merchants kept shoving things in front of her. Children were making a game of running in and out of people’s legs - laughing loudly as burly, bearded, men made half hearted attempts to grab at them. “They learn from a young age.” Lexa commented when she noticed Clarke watching the children at play.

They were all carrying wooden swords and had dirt smudged on their faces, to look like warpaint. Clarke remembered doing something similar up on the Ark. Growing up, she and Wells had played with toy swords and ran around chasing each other. There’d been talk of them wanting to be part of the guard when they grew up, but both Jake and Jaha had been against that. Both had wanted more for their children; and look where it had got them.

Clarke saw Wells hovering on the periphery of her vision. She turned her head the other way and saw her father. He stood tall and proud, his arms crossed over his chest. There was definitely disappointment in his eyes. Clarke swallowed hard, holding tighter to Lexa’s hand. She cast her eyes down, trying to ignore her father’s heavy gaze.

He wasn’t real.

Lexa was. Her hand in Clarke’s was real. The pad of her calloused thumb brushing against Clarke’s palm was real. Clarke tried to focus on that, blocking everything else out. Apparently she did too good of a job, because Lexa was looking at her expectantly; like she’d just asked her something. “Huh?”

“I asked if you were alright?” Lexa kept her tone patient, despite having to repeat herself.   
“I’m half left.” Clarke answered with an amused smirk, making Lexa frown. She looked to Dren, as if expecting her to translate Clarke’s answer. The older grounder looked just as perplexed.   
“It’s a joke.” Clarke tried to explain. “I’m not all right, I’m half left.” Lexa and Dren shared a puzzled look.   
“Skikru.” Dren shrugged, sighing like it was some kind of insult.

“I’m fine.” Clarke gave up with a sigh of her own. “Oh, wow!” One of the nearby stalls caught her attention and she wandered over to it, dragging Lexa along with her. The stall was covered in art supplies, from parchment to charcoals and oil paints. Clarke’s eyes lit up at the sight of it all. It seemed like forever since she had last turned her hand to anything creative; rather than destructive. She ran her fingers over an intricately carved paintbrush, marveling at the detail.

“Would you like anything?” Lexa reached for the coin purse at her waist. The offer was well intended, but Clarke bristled at it. She couldn’t be bought with a few art supplies, and she told Lexa as much. “Very well.” The Commander’s jaw tightened as she let her hand drop back to her side.

Clarke stared longingly at the items on the stall for a few moments longer, before forcing herself to move on. It was easier to walk the streets of the capital with the anonymity that the hooded cloak offered. There were no pointed stares, or hushed whispers, following Clarke around this time.

They didn’t venture that far away from the Courthouse. Lexa was mindful of Clarke’s tentative state. She didn’t want to push her too far too fast. Despite refusing to let Lexa purchase any art materials for her, Clarke accepted an apple from Dren, as well as some dried beef sticks that had the taste and texture of jerky.

The three women walked around for the better part of an hour, browsing the goods on offer at the market, before moving on to the waterfront down by the bridge on to the island. There were little fishing boats bobbing up and down in the water, and traders skinning and filleting the morning’s catch on the shore.

Clarke marveled at the lobsters that were still moving around inside the wooden trap. She got too close to one, with its powerful pincers almost snapping shut on her fingers. “Careful.” Lexa admonished in a stern tone. She was struggling to bite back a smile at the sight of childlike wonder in Clarke’s eyes at something as plain as a lobster.

The Arker watched closely as Dren slipped off her boots and set them aside, heading for the water. She rolled up the hem of her trousers until they were above her ankles, and then waded in to the water. The tide was low, the water calm. It lapped lazily over Dren’s feet.

Clarke inched forward apprehensively. Her first experience with a large body of water on the ground had almost ended with Octavia being eaten by god-knows-what. Polis was located on what had once been known as Lake Washington. It was considerably larger than the rivers which Clarke had waded in before.

Despite her unease, Clarke slipped off her own boots and stepped in to the water until it was covering her feet. It felt shockingly cold, but initial chill quickly wore off as her body adjusted to the temperature. The rocks and pebbles beneath her feet felt as hard and smooth as glass.

There were pebbles on the shore edge too. Lexa bent down to pick a handful up. Holding the small pile in her left hand, she took a particularly flat stone in her right hand and then sent it skimming across the surface of the water.

“How did you do that?” Clarke watched in amazement as the little pebble bounced off the water four times before dropping to its icy depths. She was looking at Lexa with those big blue eyes of hers full of wonder. The sight made Lexa’s stomach tighten in a knot.

“It’s easy.” Lexa shrugged, dismissing Clarke’s amazement as she sent another pebble soaring out in to the lake. This one managed to bounce for longer before dropping below the surface. Never one to back down from a challenge, Clarke picked up one of the pebbles at her feet and threw it. It landed in the water with a splash, and sunk straight down. Clarke frowned as Lexa stifled a small laugh.

“Show me?” Clarke demanded, unable to figure out the trick to it herself. The request for help was almost inconsequential. It wasn’t like Clarke was asking for some important life lesson, but the fact that she had asked - or more accurately demanded - Lexa’s help for something was a good start.

“Look for a flat stone.” Lexa instructed, picking one of the smoother ones from her little pile. Clarke waded closer to her, inspecting the stone like it had some secret, mythical, power. “Then throw it at an angle to the water. Do not throw it straight down, or it will sink. With practice you will find the right way to throw it to make it bounce for longer. See?” Lexa tossed the pebble with an elegant flick of her wrist, sending it skimming off the water’s surface. It bounced a good ten times before finally submerging.

“Let me try.” Clarke picked out one of the stones from Lexa’s hand, her fingers scraping lightly against her palm and sending a shiver running along Lexa’s spine. Gripping it lightly between her thumb and forefinger, Clarke made a show of moving her wrist backwards and forwards, gearing up to throw the stone for real.

There was a fierce intensity in her eyes, of the kind that Lexa was used to seeing in battle. Clarke tended to put her entire being in to whatever she turned her hand at; be it leading her people or skimming a rock. She bit at her lip, her eyes focused on the horizon as she finally let the seemed undeterred. “Woo-hoo!” She threw her arms up in the air, attracting a few awkward stares, and grinned in triumph.   
  
“Better.” Lexa praised. By the time they left the water’s edge, Clarke had become something of a pro at skimming stones; setting a new personal best of six bounces. She was beaming with a sense of achievement. The teenager almost looked as she had before the fall of the mountain. Almost, but not quite.

“Dren, take Clarke back to the house. I have some errands to run.” Lexa instructed her head of house as she and Clarke finished pulling their boots back on. Dren looked a little taken aback at the thought of the Commander having ‘errands’ to run herself, but dutifully agreed.   
“Yes, Heda.”

Clarke fell in to step with the older woman without protest, leaving Lexa on her own to head back towards the market. Clarke and Dren walked in a comfortable silence. Like most grounders, Dren did not waste her words. Clarke had always found that oddly comforting. It was midday by the time they reached the Commander’s palace, and Clarke was exhausted.

Her stomach rumbled, but she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to eat the soup that Dren had fetched for her. She felt silly to be sitting at the grand banqueting table on her own, so she made light work of the soup. She emptied her bowl in record time, mopping up the last of the soup with a slice of warm, crusty, bread.

“Could I maybe go lie down?” Clarke asked when Dren inquired what she would like to do with the afternoon.   
“Of course.” Dren nodded sympathetically. Clarke was still pale and weak, with dark circles framing her sullen eyes. She would need plenty of food and rest if she was to get her full strength back. “I’ve prepared a room for you.”

Dren led Clarke back upstairs to the second floor. She thought she might have been taken her back to Lexa’s room, but they passed Lexa’s intricately carved mahogany door and stopped at the next one. The door was unlocked, and swung open to reveal a modest sized room. In the centre, there was a single bed, piled up with pillows and blankets. Beside it stood an old wardrobe, and a desk with a simple wooden stool in front of it. Directly by the bed, a black-bear skin rug lay on the floor. The glassy black eyes seemed to stare accusingly at Clarke, forcing her to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

She walked inside the room, taking in the adjoining bathroom with a barrel full of fresh water to wash in, and a wrought iron clawed foot bathtub that could be filled to bathe in. Directly across from the bathroom, there was another door. This one was locked as Clarke tried the handle. It obviously led next door to Lexa’s room. “The key is on the other side.” Dren confirmed Clarke’s suspicions. “Given your previous attempts on the Commander’s life, I thought it prudent to keep it locked.”

As friendly as Dren had been with her, Clarke had picked up undertones in the way the older woman had spoken to her and watched her all morning; as thought she expected Clarke to snap and go after Lexa at any time. Clarke had the decency to blush at that. “I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking straight.” Clarke felt her cheeks burning. If word of her attack on Lexa in the forest had spread around the city, then the knowledge that she was suffering from violent hallucinations probably had too.

“You are unwell.” Dren dismissed the apology in a clipped tone. “I like you, Clarke of the Sky People. I think, in time, we will be great friends. But I must warn you. Make a move on Lexa’s life once more, and I will have no choice but to end yours; regardless of the consequences.” She held Clarke’s gaze, making sure the message hit home. As forgiving as Laxa was being about Clarke’s numerous attempts on her life, the people closest to her would not be quite so accommodating. Despite what Lexa would do to her, Dren would take Clarke’s life in a heartbeat if she thought the Heda was in danger.

Clarke nodded, unable to form any kind of coherent reply. Dren seemed satisfied with her response though, and her hardened glare quickly slipped off her face. “Good. Now, you rest. I’ll come wake you when dinner is ready.” Clarke nodded again, just about ready to collapse on her feet. Dren turned on her heels and left, closing the door over behind her but not locking it. Clarke took a small sense of relief in that.

Stripping off her boots and her trousers, she padded over to the bed and climbed up on to it. Her knees instantly sunk down in to the soft mattress. There was another bear skin on top of all of the other blankets, and Clarke curled up under this. The weight of the fur against her bare skin was warm and comforting. Her head had barely hit the pillow before Clarke slipped in to unconsciousness.

Sometime later, the door to Clarke’s room creaked open. The Commander of the twelve tribes slipped inside the room, moving with the stealth and grace of a lion stalking its prey. She was carrying a cloth bag, and placed it down on the desk before moving over to Clarke’s bedside. The younger girl was sound asleep. She looked so much more peaceful when she was sleeping. Lexa allowed herself a few moments of watching the other girl in her unguarded state, then bent over to softly press her lips to Clarke’s forehead. She stirred soundlessly, rolling over on to her side before settling again.

“Sleep well, Ski Heda.” Lexa muttered softly, backing away from the bed. She moved back over to the desk and set about emptying the cloth bag she had brought with her. While Dren had been escorting Clarke back to the house, Lexa had returned to the market and sought out the stall with all of the art supplies. She lay out parchment and charcoals, as well as paints and oil pastels, lining them all neatly up on the desk for Clarke when she woke. Last of all she pulled out the intricately carved paintbrush that had caught Clarke’s eye. It was a small gesture, but Lexa hoped it would be a step in the right direction.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
It was still light out when Clarke woke up a few hours later. Her body ached from lying curled up in the same position for so long. “Son of a…” She let out a groan as she sat up, the muscles in her back screaming in protest. Sleeping in a bed was a luxury she was no longer accustomed to.

Something on the desk caught Clarke’s attention as she stood up. She frowned as she picked up a stick of charcoal, the weight of it familiar in her hand. She recognized the art supplies from the stall they’d passed earlier in the day. She’d refused Lexa’s offer to buy her the items mostly on principle; though Clarke secretly ached to draw again.

It had been so long since she’d been able to just sit down and while away the hours with a pencil. Her art had always been there to ground Clarke during her darkest days. From her father being floated, to being cast away to Earth, Clarke had been able to fall back on the familiar comfort that drawing offered her.

It seemed wrong to want that comfort back now, after everything her hands had done since coming to Earth. The dropship. TonDC. The Mountain. Clarke’s hands were stained with so much blood. Too much. It would never wash off, no matter how hard she tried to scrub.

While the bloodstains on her hands were more metaphysical, the black smudges from the charcoal were very much real. “Fuck…” Clarke cursed out loud. She tried rubbing her hand against her thigh to get rid of the tell tale sign that she’d shown an interest in Lexa’s gift. The smudge faded, but didn’t quite disappear.

Clarke picked up the stick of charcoal once more, and slipped down on to the stool in front of the desk. She pushed everything to one side, leaving a blank piece of paper in front of her. She chewed at her lip as the charcoal hovered over the immaculate page. The first few marks she made were hesitant, but before long her confidence was returning.

She allowed her mind to wander as she worked on her drawing, filling the page in determined silence. She’d gone to sleep with her hair down, and long strands of it kept falling in to her face. After a few futile attempts of blowing it away, Clarke eventually reached up and brushed it back behind her ear; leaving a smudge of charcoal on her cheek.

Clarke hadn’t been sure what she was actually drawing at first. The image seemed to come out of nowhere, bit by bit from Clarke’s memory. First there was the skyline, littered with broken buildings and ancient trees. Then the water and the little fishing boats that had bobbed on the water. She was just finishing off the ripples from the stone skimming across the water when there was a knock at her door.

“Just a second!” Clarke practically jumped off the stool in an effort to scramble for the door. Her bare feet skidded on the wooden floor, sending her practically slamming in to the door with bang. “Son of a-”  
“Clarke? Are you okay?” Lexa’s worried voice came from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

“Fine!” Clarke was blustered as she eventually opened the door just a crack - just enough to reassure Lexa that she was in fact fine, and not in anyway seriously injured. “I’m fine. What do you want?” Clarke’s heart was racing from crossing the length of the room in two long strides. Her tone came out a little more abrupt than she intended it to. Lexa didn’t seem to take it too personally.

Once she was sure Clarke was okay, her features settled back in to their usual unassuming arrangement. “I would like you to join me for dinner.”   
“Sure. I’ll be down in a minute.” Clarke hurriedly agreed, wanting to get Lexa away from the door so she could go wash her hands - and remove any evidence that she had given in and accepted Lexa’s gift to her.

She tried to close the door back over, but Lexa jammed her foot in front of it. The usually brash Commander looked a little anxious as she cleared her throat. “Actually, I am having dinner in my quarters tonight… I hope you will still join me?”  
“Uh, Okay. Sure. Give me a sec.” Clarke finally yanked the door shut as the other girl moved her foot out of the way.

She ran in the adjoining bathroom and the barrel of fresh water that acted as a sink. She had no idea what the items on the narrow shelf above the barrel were for. There was a bowl of what looked to be moss. Clarke dipped her fingers in it and hoped for the best as she started rubbing in to her hands. By sheer dumb luck, it started to lather up like soap, removing some of the more stubborn stains on her fingers. Once she rinsed the rest of the green goop off of her hands they were left completely clean.

There was no mirror in the bathroom. So when Clarke quickly scraped her hair back - and tied it up in a messy bun - she failed to notice the streak of charcoal still gracing her cheek. The stark black mark looked like a child’s attempt at war paint against her pale skin. Stepping out of the bathroom, Clarke was surprised to find the adjoining door to hers and Lexa’s rooms standing open.

She poked her head around the door and found Lexa sitting at a small dining table. It was set up for two, with the chair closest to the open door standing empty. Dinner would be much more intimate than it had been at the grand banqueting table in the dining room downstairs. Lexa stood abruptly as she noticed Clarke standing in the doorway.

Varda, one of the house staff, was busy filling Lexa’s cup with ruby red wine when she looked up and spotted the mark on Clarke’s cheek. The young woman turned to Dren with a frown, momentarily forgetting her place as she asked, “What is on her face?” As a civilian, Varda spoke little to no English, and Clarke didn’t know enough Trigedasleng to understand what she’d asked. Dren shushed her, ushering her out of the room once she’d sat Clarke’s plate down in front of her.

Lexa paid neither woman any mind. Her attention was solely on Clarke. She waited for the other girl to take her seat before she took her own again. “I trust you slept well? I came to see you earlier… You seemed to be sleeping peacefully.”   
“Yeah, I know you did. I saw your gift… I told you I didn’t want any of that stuff.” Clarke bristled.

“I thought you might reconsider.” Lexa shrugged. She kept her expression neutral, almost disinterested, as she picked up her cup and took a sip of wine. She knew better than to play up to Clarke’s haughtiness with any kind of discernible reaction. That was what Clarke wanted. She was looking for any reason to get up and walk out; and Lexa was determined not to give her one.   
“I doubt it… but thanks anyway.” Huffed Clarke. Years of practice allowed Lexa to swallow the smile that threatened to break out across her face.

She hid her amusement behind her cup as she took another drink of wine, purposefully avoiding looking at the smudge of charcoal on Clarke’s cheek. As skillful a liar as Clarke was, it was obvious that she’d already been using the art supplies that Lexa had left in her room. The evidence was literally all over her face.

An uneasy silence settled over them after that. Clarke reached out for her own cup. Bringing it to her lips, she was surprised to find it filled with water. “How come you get wine and I get water?” She scowled. “I’m not a kid-”  
“No. You are not.” Lexa agreed. Her gaze momentarily dropped to Clarke’s mouth, before flitting back up. It was almost too quick for Clarke to catch.

“You are, however, unwell. Alcohol will not agree with the draft Lustig has prescribed you-” She trailed off as Clarke reached over the small dining table and snatched up her cup. Lexa rolled her eyes. “I take it back. You are a child.”  
“I know you are, but what am I?” Clarke followed the taunt up by sticking out her tongue. Lexa actually snorted with laughter at that. Her smile lit up her whole face, making her seem so much younger.

“You are a child.” Lexa repeated. “And, as I said, you are not drinking tonight.” She took the cup right back out of Clarke’s hand and brought it up to her own lips. Clarke pulled a face, but didn’t argue with her. The wine was particularly strong. It put Monty’s moonshine to shame.   
“Sha, Heda.” Clarke shot back, her voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

“How come the door was unlocked?” Clarke changed the conversation as they started to eat. “Dren said it was locked from your side.”   
“As I said, you are not a prisoner, Clarke. My door will always be open to you… except when I am sleeping.” The Commander was fair-minded, not suicidal. She would do everything in her power to extend the hand of friendship to Clarke; but she could not ignore the other girl’s previous attempts on her life.

“Of course.” Clarke nodded, her gaze downcast on the table. “I… I’m sorry.” It took a lot for her to choke the words out. “I… when the voices start…”  
“There is nothing to forgive.” Lexa brushed off her attempt at an apology. “What’s done is done. We must go forwards, not back.”   
“Are you this understanding with everyone who makes an attempt on your life?” Clarke joked, trying to lighten the mood. The guilt gnawing at her insides felt like it was about to eat her whole.

“No one has ever been foolish enough to try.” Lexa answered honestly, in her usual cool and detached tone. “Luckily for us both, you are no skilled assassin.” She added with a wry smirk, drawing an amused smile out of Clarke.   
“Third time’s a charm.” The younger woman shot back. Lexa took it in the vein in was intended, and humored her with a soft laugh. The sound seemed almost foreign, coming from the mouth of the Commander of the twelve tribes.

“You should laugh more often. It suits you…” Clarke blushed as she spoke, feeling Lexa’s gaze boring in to her. She wished she had kept hold of the Commander’s wine glass, but she had to make do with her water instead. She took a sip, using it as an excuse to look away from the other woman. The room suddenly seemed impossibly smaller.

They lapsed in to silence after that. Clarke hurriedly cleared her plate, eating like she expected the food to get up and walk away if she didn’t devour it fast enough. Once she was done, she pushed her plate away and cleared her throat. “I’m pretty tired. I should go back to my room.”

“Of course.” Lexa stood at the same time as Clarke, intending to see her out. She struggled to hide her disappointment at Clarke excusing herself so quickly, but getting the other girl to even sit with her for a meal in private seemed like a huge milestone. They were taking small steps on the road to mending their strained relationship, but at least they were moving.

“Goodnight, Clarke.” Lexa moved to hold open the door connecting their rooms and bid her goodnight.   
“’Night, Lexa.” Clarke brushed past her to step through the open door.   
“Clarke?”   
“Yeah?” She paused and turned, hyper-aware of the way Lexa’s gaze kept dropping to her mouth.  
“You… you may want to wash up before bed. You have something… just here.” Lexa reached out, lightly brushing the pad of her thumb against the side of Clarke’s cheek. The simple touch sent a shiver racing through the younger girl.

“Uh…” she stared back at Lexa, her brain seeming to short-wire. “Thanks. Goodnight.” Clarke pulled the door shut behind her. She stood with her back to it, waiting for her pulse to quit racing. She closed her eyes over, trying to forget about the last time she and Lexa had stood close; backing her up against the war table… “Get it together.” She hissed at herself, hating her own body for its traitorous reaction to Lexa’s touch.

Bringing her own hand up to her cheek she rubbed lightly at whatever it was that Lexa had spotted. “Damn it…” she groaned out loud when her fingers came away smudged with charcoal. “Nice one, Griffin.”

  
Clarke found someone had been in her room while she’d been eating dinner with Lexa. Half a dozen candles had been lit, casting the whole room in a soft, orange, glow. Clarke moved a few of them over to the desk by the window, where she’d left her half finished sketch earlier.

A glass vial was sitting, innocuously, beside the preachment. Its brownish-green hue was familiar to Clarke, as was its noxious smell. It was the same draft Lustig had given her twice before. Dren must have left it there for her, along with lighting all the candles.

Clarke left the vial sitting where it was. It calmed her nerves, but also made her drowsy. She wasn’t ready to sleep yet. Clarke wanted to finish off her drawing first. “You should take that, Clarke. You need it.” She’d barely picked the charcoal back up when she heard her father’s voice from across the room. Clarke closed her eyes over and took a breath.

When she opened them again her father was by her side, resting against the edge of the table. His leg brushed against Clarke’s arm, though she couldn’t feel it. “Dad…” Her voice shook. Of all the souls that haunted her, her father was the hardest one to face.

“That stuff might smell like the back end of a goat, but it’ll make you better.” Jake sat perched on the table, his arms crossed over his chest as he smiled down at his only child.   
“If I get better I won’t see you anymore. I won’t hear you… or Wells.” Said Clarke. She swallowed hard, feeling a lump in the back of her throat.  
  
“Baby, we died. We’re gone. It’s time to let us go.”   
“No.” Clarke shook her head. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her hands clenched in to fists. “You’re all I’ve got left…”

“No.” Jake moved to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. If Clarke concentrated, if she closed her eyes again and focused, she could almost feel his touch. “That’s not true, Clarke. You have so many people who care about you. You’d be able to see that if you were well… Take the medicine.”   
“Later.” Clarke mumbled, turning her attention back to the paper in front of her. “I’ll take it later. I promise.”

Hours passed by while Clarke kept working at the drawing. The candles around the room had burned down to stumps, and Clarke still hadn’t finished. She’d drawn the lake and the distant skyline, and a single stone skimming across the water. Somehow it still didn’t feel done. Clarke frowned. She had to squint down at the page in the low light.

She stood with a frustrated sigh and stretched out. Huddling over the desk for so long had left her feeling as stiff as a board. Without thinking too much about it, Clarke crossed the room and wrapped her knuckles lightly against the door that separated hers and Lexa’s rooms.

“Come.” Lexa answered swiftly. Clarke opened the door and slipped inside. It was darker inside Lexa’s room than she expected. Only the glow of a single candle guided Clarke over to where Lexa was huddled in the overstuffed armchair by her bed, an open book resting in her lap. The candlelight danced over her face, making her features look sharp and severe. They smoothened out as a shy smile graced her lips. “Clarke?”

“I…” Clarke had been all set to ask if she had any candles she could spare, but the question died in her throat the moment she got close enough to really see Lexa. The other girl was dressed in nothing more than a silk night-slip. It stopped short just above her knees, revealing long, lean, legs that seemed to go on forever. “I… uh… I…”

“I do hope you have not come to make another attempt on my life, Clarke. It is late.” The other girl’s tone was light and teasing. Her smile blossomed in to a more confident smirk as Clarke carried on staring at her. “Clarke?” She repeated her name, trying to snap her out of her daze.

“Sorry, I…” Clarke cleared her throat. She was grateful for just how dark it was when she felt her cheeks growing hot. “I was drawing, but it’s too dark… Could I… Do you have any spare candles?”

“Of course.” Said Lexa. She rose to her feet with an effortless grace and crossed over to her dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, she picked up a handful of beeswax candles. “I am glad you have found use for my gift.” Lexa’s painfully shy smile returned as she turned and handed her load over.   
“Yeah, well, it helps pass the time.” Clarke shrugged. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”   
“You are a welcome distraction.” Lexa reassured her. “Goodnight Clarke.”

“Goodnight Lex.” Clarke replied, then left to go back to her own room. She replaced the burnt out candles on the desk, lighting them with one of the ones that was still lit, and then went straight back to working on her drawing. She kept at it for another hour before she was happy with the final result.

Her hands were stained black from the charcoal, and her fingers ached. The pain felt good. It felt normal. Clarke admired her work for a few moments longer. It was hardly her best work, but it felt good just to be drawing again. Lexa was responsible for that. Whatever else she was responsible for, she had given Clarke back a piece of herself that she had thought was lost.

Picking the charcoal back up, Clarke scribbled a quick note on to the bottom of the page. She didn’t think too much about what she was doing as she walked over to Lexa’s door. She’d heard the scrape of the lock a little while earlier, so she knew that Lexa was sleeping. Dropping down to her knees, she slid the paper under the door. It would be morning before Lexa would discover the drawing, and the handwritten note in Clarke’s messy scrawl. It was short and sweet. Something simple and to the point.

‘Thanks, C.’

 


	6. Chapter 6

  
“Ugh!” Clarke let out a grunt as the bed covers were pulled away from her head. Light flooded in to her half-lidded eyes, making her groan as she reached blindly for the covers. “What the hell…” Her head felt too heavy to lift from the pillow, a side-effect of the calming draft she had been prescribed to take.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light and focused on Dren just as the older woman started tugging on her ankle. “Time to get up!” She sounded far too cheerful for Clarke’s liking.   
“I just went to bed!” Kicking out with the leg that Dren had caught hold of, she tried in vain to scramble back up the bed and bury her head under one of the pillows.

“The sun - and the rest of Polis - have been up for hours.” Said Dren, showing no signs of sympathy for the younger woman. “You are to be presented to the Council today. You must be presentable.”   
“What does that mean?” Clarke huffed. She finally gave up trying to crawl back in to bed and sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

“It means you have been here for five days, and in that time you have yet to bathe.” Dren childed. “I’ve drawn you a bath.”   
“I… Are you saying I smell?” Clarke sniffed self consciously at herself. She’d been washing in the barrel of water that passed as her bathroom sink, but she hadn’t had a chance to have a full bath yet.   
“I’m saying you are about to meet the Commander’s generals, the ambassadors of the twelve clans, and the heads of some very important families. You need to be presentable. Come along.”

Grabbing Clarke’s wrist, Dren half-dragged her out of the bed and led her next door, in to Lexa’s room. The Commander was nowhere in sight. “Why do I have to take a bath in Lexa’s room?” There was a perfectly good tub in her own room; not that Clarke had used it yet.   
“We need to get you dressed quickly. It makes more sense to do that in here. Now strip.” Dren started tugging on her sleeve as she ushered her towards the bathroom.

“Hey! I think I can manage taking a bath by myself.” Clarke pushed her hands away and tugged her shirt back down. Turning her attention to the tub - which was a large square, the size of a hot tub, and made out of marble - she was taken aback by the array of lotions and ointments on the ledge of the marble bath. “Um, which one is the shampoo?”

After setting aside half a dozen items for Clarke to use, Dren closed the door behind her and left Clarke in peace. The teenager stripped off the clothes she’d slept in, leaving them in a pile by the side of the tub before she stepped in to the water.

Clarke let out a contented sigh as she lowered herself, slipping down in to the warm water. There were rose petals floating around in the water, and it smelled heady. Like lavender and spices. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there soaking. Minutes or hours could have passed while she lay with her eyes closed - the rose petals gently lapping against her sides - Clarke completely lost track of time.

It was only when Dren knocked to ask if she was okay that Clarke motivated herself in to washing her hair. The shampoo smelled like lemons and peppermint. She massaged it in to her scalp before washing it out. There was soap and body-wash too. Clarke took full advantage of Lexa’s well-stocked bathroom, using the products to scrub herself clean.

There was a towel waiting on the side for her. It was big enough to wrap around Clarke twice, and was warm and fluffy. Clarke would have been happy to walk around in it all day; but Dren had other ideas. She was waiting for Clarke over by Lexa’s dresser. “We’ll do your hair and then get you dressed. Lexa and the Council are expecting us soon.”

“I’ll just tie it back.” Shrugged Clarke. The long soak in the hot bath had done her the world of good, but she’d been fussed over enough for one day.   
“Don’t be silly. I’ve been dying to do something with your hair since you got here. Besides, I think you’d suit a braid. Sit.” There was no arguing with her, so for once Clarke did as she was told.

Twenty minutes later and Clarke’s hair had mostly dried. Dren had brushed it through, getting rid of all the knots and tangles, and then she’d braided two sections and tied them together with a hair band. The rest was left down. “Perfect.” Dren smiled at her work.

There was a dress lying on Lexa’s bed. Dren picked it up and held it against Clarke, nodding in approval. “I think this will suit you.” Despite being annoyed at having to play dress up, Clarke couldn’t deny that Dren was right about the dress. It was gorgeous.

It was deep blue wrap around dress, sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a hem that dropped just above Clarke’s knees. The material was soft and silky, and it clung to her curves in all the right ways. The teen ran her hands over her sides as she admired her reflection in the mirror. For the first time in a long while, Clarke almost recognized the girl staring back at her. “This is beautiful, Dren. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Dren shrugged dismissively. “It was Lexa’s choice… Something about the color matching your eyes.”   
“Oh…” Clarke dropped her gaze, unsure of just what else to say to that. The dress did match her eyes. Almost perfectly. Clarke didn’t have long to ponder that fact before Dren was sitting her back down to see to her makeup.

The older woman applied thick kohl to Clarke’s eyes; framing them and making her eyes seem all the more brighter. Next came the war paint. Dren took her time with this. She painted a thin black band across Clarke’s eyes and over the bridge of her nose. Then she switched to red, dipping a very fine paintbrush in to the paint and using it to draw a detailed copy of the symbol the Commander wore on her forehead. Dren was already wearing the same symbol on her own forehead.

“It’s a brand.” Observed Clarke. “The symbol. It marks us as Pellex, right?”   
“It does.” Dren nodded, her attention still fixed on painting Clarke’s face. “It marks us as belonging to the Heda...”  
“How many of us are there? How many Pellex does Lexa have?”   
“My husband had four.” Dren sidestepped the question. “The wife and mother of his predecessor. My second - Aurora - and the daughter of the Floukru’s ambassador.”

“Didn’t that bother you?” Polygamy had been rare on the Ark, mostly due to the population controls and limited amounts of birth control, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.   
“My husband had many lovers. As did I… But we only ever had one love.”   
“What about Lexa? How many Pellex does she have?” Clarke wasn’t about to let her question drop, even if waiting on Dren’s answer left her stomach queasy. She wasn’t quite sure she actually wanted to hear it.

“Until you? Only myself. You are the first Lexa has taken by choice… rather than duty.”  
“Why?” Clarke demanded. She knew it was something she should have been asking Lexa, but Dren had known the Commander a lot longer. It was easier to approach the seasoned warrior than it was to ask Lexa outright. Dren’s hands stilled in their fussing over the younger girl’s hair, then moved to clasp Clarke’s shoulders from where she stood behind her.

Looking up to meet Clarke’s reflection in the mirror, Dren squared her jaw and seemed to bite down on her tongue. She waited until she held Clarke’s gaze to answer. “You know why. You are not simple minded, and neither is Heda; though you might treat her as such.” With that, Dren took a step back, letting her hands drop back down to her sides.

Clarke jumped up out of her chair, rounding on the other women. “What is it you’re trying to imply, Dren?”   
“You already know that too.” Dren wore the same kind of patient - yet condescending - smile that she would address a child with. It did nothing too quell Clarke’s anger. She found her fists clenching down at her sides. Dren noticed, and let out a snort of laughter.  
“What do you intend to do, Skai-goufa?”

Clarke knew enough of the grounder language to know Dren had just called her a child. It infuriated her more than anything else ever could. She wasn’t a child. She hadn’t been since the second she stepped foot on earth, and maybe even longer before that. Fueled by blind rage, Clarke’s head dropped as she charged forward, intending to barrel in to Dren’s chest.

The older woman easily sidestepped the oncoming attack. She turned, giving Clarke’s backside a gentle kick for good measure and sending her crashing in to the bed. “You fight like a child. All anger and impatience.”   
“So I’ve been told.” Clarke huffed out.   
“Choose your battles carefully, Clarke. Do not make enemies out of your allies.” Dren moved to offer her hand out to help the younger girl up. For a brief second it looked like Clarke might snub her, but she reluctantly took the offered hand with a sigh.

“You sound like my Mom.” Dren’s smile wavered at that. She had mentioned being a mother, but Clarke hadn’t seen any children running around the court house in all the time she’d been there. The other woman didn’t seem the time who would let her child stay far from her sight for very long. “Dren? Are you okay?” Clarke managed to ask, despite the lump forming in the back of her throat.

“You remind me of my son.” She mused, still refusing to look at Clarke as she busied herself tidying away the paints from Lexa’s dresser. “He had the same long blond hair, and the same fiery temper. He got both from his father.”   
“What happened to him? To your son?” Asked Clarke, her voice dropping to a softer tone.

“Isaiah was taken… By the Ice Queen. We knew Nia was mounting an attack. Heda entrusted Costia’s safety to me… and I failed. The Ice Queen’s warriors came for both of us. I fought them off for as long as I could, but when it became clear they couldn’t take me alive, one drove his knife deep in to my stomach… and then they took Costia, and Isaiah. I was lucky enough that the blade became stuck in my rib. If he’d pulled it out I’d have bled to death before I could find help… Not that it did any good.” Clarke knew just what end Costia had met. She didn’t want to ask if Dren’s son had met the same grisly fate.

“We should get going. We don’t want to keep the Council waiting.” Dren cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes. That was the only emotion she allowed herself to show before her walls came flying back up and she started ushering Clarke out of the room.

Lexa was pacing up and down the corridor in front of the room she held court in. She paused mid-stride as she looked up and spotted Clarke and Dren walking towards her. “About time. I have been wait-” She trailed off as she caught sight of Clarke, her hair braided, her face painted, and the dress Lexa had chosen for her hugging her hips. “Waiting.” Lexa cleared her throat and stood a little straighter, with her hands clasped firmly together behind her back.

“Forgive me, Commander. It took longer than expected to scrub Clarke up.” Dren’s earlier dark mood seemed to have lifted as she presented Clarke to Lexa with a mischievous smirk. “Em ste meizen ona hogeda gon bilaik graun.”  
“Sha.” Lexa grunted, not quite able to tear her eyes away from Clarke.  
“You know - in my culture - it’s rude to talk about people when they’re standing right in front of you.” Clarke huffed.

“My apologies, Clarke.” Lexa apologized, even though it had been Dren who’d first spoken in Trigedasleng. “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”   
“Sure. No problem… What exactly is it I’m doing here?”   
“We are presenting you to my Council, and later to the people of Polis.” Lexa explained. She held out her arm for Clarke to take, though she didn’t actually expect her to. The Commander of the twelve clans was pleasantly surprised when Clarke stepped forward and linked her arm through her own.   
“Okay… Let’s do this.”

The throne room was already full to the brim as Dren threw open the doors. A hushed silence fell over the room as all eyes fell on Lexa, and then Clarke. The teenager shrunk back under the sudden attention, if her arm hadn’t been linked through Lexa’s she might have stopped all together. As it was, Lexa kept her going forward. She led Clarke to the top of a long antique table, where Lexa’s throne sat.

There were two smaller chairs on either side of the elaborate throne. Dren took her place in the one on the right, while Lexa nodded for Clarke to sit to her left. Clarke sat down stiffly. The hardwood chairs were far from comfortable. Beside her, Lexa placed her arms on the rests of her, letting her slender fingers hang over the edges. Clarke - who still seemed to be the center of attention in the room - nervously reached out for Lexa’s left hand, lacing their fingers together.

Lexa’s only acknowledgment of the other girl’s actions was to gently run the pad of her thumb across the back of Clarke’s hand. A shiver ran through her at the simple touch, and Clarke couldn’t quite shake off Dren’s earlier comments, ‘You know why.’

The last murmurs died down as Lexa lifted her right hand up to call for silence. She cleared her throat, before speaking in the strong, confident, tone that Clarke associated with the Commander. “As you know, I have called you all here today to announce that I have taken a new Pellex.” Clarke’s grip on Lexa’s hand tightened as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Klark kom Skaikru.” The men and women that were sat around the Council table broke in to stuttered applause, some looking happier than others.  
  


* * *

 

“Clarke? Are you well?” Lexa hovered beside Clarke, placing a hand on the small of her back. Her eyes were soft and her voice gentle. The Council - along with the whole city of Polis - had been celebrating Lexa’s new acquisition all day. After being introduced to the Council members Clarke had been presented to all of Polis on the steps of the court house.

It had been nerve-wracking to say the least - having the eyes of an entire nation on her - and Clarke had clung to Lexa’s hand like it was a treasured security blanket. After a parade through the streets, Clarke, Lexa and the Council had ended up back in the throne room for a banquet.

Wine had flowed as freely as the conversation, though Clarke had been careful not to drink too much. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself in front of the most prominent people in the city. She’d been snacking on lumps of cheese in-between glasses of wine, in an attempt to keep a sober head.

Lexa’s breath was sweet with wine against the side of Clarke’s neck, but she seemed to be in full control of her faculties. “Hmm.” Clarke nodded. “I’m fine… Ha yu, Heda?”   
“I am well. Thank you.” Lexa smiled at Clarke’s efforts to learn her language.

“Heda! May I steal you away from this beautiful creature for just a moment?” A plump man appeared at Lexa’s side. He had thinning grey hair that flopped over from one side of his head to the other, and his robes were fit to burst from his enormous gut. He was a far cry from a warrior. Clarke vaguely remembered Lexa pointing him out as a merchant from the Boat People of the Eastern Sea.

“Of course, Klement.” Lexa nodded politely, but looked less than enthused to be following Klement across the room and away from Clarke. The portly merchant led her over to a group of women, the youngest of which he introduced to Lexa, offering up her hand.

“Oh dear.” Dren sighed beside Clarke, Making her jump. She hadn’t expected to be caught staring at Lexa. “Klement is always trying to push one of his daughters on to the Commander. No doubt he sees her finally taking a Pellex as an indication she may be open to a wife.”

“Those are all his daughters?” Clarke frowned. There were at least six women crowded around Lexa and Klement. They ranged in age from their late twenties, to the girl Lexa was busy speaking with; who was maybe a couple of years younger than Clarke herself.   
“So he says.” Dren didn’t sound convinced. “I’m sure he just goes around rounding them up in the hope of finding one Heda will actually take a liking to.”

“Insufferable man…” Lexa sighed as she finally managed to slip away from the merchant and his daughters and rejoin Clarke and Dren. She picked up a goblet of wine from the tray of a passing server, drinking it far quicker than she had all evening.   
“So, when’s the wedding?” Clarke teased, drawing a smirk from Dren; and a frown from Lexa.  
“Neither of you are amusing.” She huffed.

“You know, if you’re spoiled for choice you could always just take them all as your Pellex?” Clarke suggested, trying to get a rise out of the Commander.   
“Hmm, I had not considered that.” Clarke’s plan backfired as Lexa seemed to consider the idea. Clarke felt a hot stab of something close to jealousy in the pit of her stomach.

She snapped her head around to face Lexa, her features settling in a scowl before she realised Lexa was wearing a wry smirk. She had baited Clarke for a reaction of her own. “Is that a problem, Clarke?”   
“No.” Clarke shrugged, going for an air of nonchalance. It was difficult to pull off when her cheeks were burning red.   
“I think Heda has enough on her hands with one new Pellex.” Said Dren, trying to play mediator between them. “Now, who’s for another drink?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

  
“Klark.” Lexa addressed the other girl, popping the ‘k’ on the end. The party had been going on for hours, with the two of them gravitating around each other for most of the night. Clarke had made an effort to get to know many of the ambassadors and heads of houses. Lexa seemed pleased with her attempts at integrating with the people of Polis. The Commander of the twelve tribes also seemed more at ease than Clarke had ever seen her in such a large group of people.

“Laik yu ogud gon bag?” Like Clarke, Lexa had been drinking. Her breath was hot against the side of Clarke’s cheek as she spoke in rapid Trigedasleng, her hand finding it’s way to Clarke’s hip. The only word that Clarke recognized was ‘bed’.

“Huh?” She turned to address Lexa, blinking as though in a daze. The crowded room felt hot and stuffy with so many people crammed inside of it; and Lexa hovering so close at her side wasn’t helping with Clarke’s newfound claustrophobia.

“Apologies.” Lexa muttered sheepishly. Her cheeks were tinged with a healthy red glow. Whether it was from her embarrassment at forgetting to speak in English, or the alcohol, was hard to tell. “I asked if you were ready to retire? It has been a long day and night, and you are still not at your best-”  
“My best?” It was the wrong choice of words, and Lexa instantly knew that from the look Clarke shot her way. “Bite me, Heda!” The blond snapped, turning her back on Lexa to carry on the conversation she’d been having with an elderly couple that owned a wealth of farm land just north of the city.

“Ow!” Clarke barked out as she suddenly felt a sharp sting against her bare shoulder. “What the hell?” She spun around on her heels, shoving Lexa. The guards closest to the pair made to move against Clarke, but stopped as Lexa held up her hand to keep them at bay. They shifted uneasily on their feet, but held their ground as their Commander took her Pellex by the hand and urged her over to a quieter section of the room. They disappeared out of sight behind a large pillar.

“You bit me!” Clarke managed to sounded both bewildered and infuriated as she clasped a hand to her shoulder.   
“You asked me to…” Lexa frowned. She didn’t understand what she had done wrong. she had only been trying to please Clarke after all.   
“It’s a figure of speech!” Clarke spluttered. “Why the hell would I ask you to actually bite me?” Lexa shrugged. She wasn’t aware of the Sky People’s customs, and she told Clarke as much.

“Unbelievable…” Clarke shook her head, still rubbing absently at her shoulder. It hadn’t really hurt. Lexa had barely bitten down. It had just been more of a shock than anything else. “Remind me never to tell you to go fuck yourself.” She grumbled, still giving Lexa a dirty look.   
“I am sorry.” Lexa apologized again. Which was probably twice more than she had ever apologized to anyone, ever. It was hard for Clarke to stay mad at the older girl with her lower lip jutting out the way it was.

Lexa, the Commander of the twelve clans, fierce leader of the grounder army, was actually pouting. “Forget about it… You’re right. It’s been a long day. I should head back to my room.”   
“I shall walk you.” Lexa instantly perked up once she had Clarke’s forgiveness. She offered out her arm for Clarke to take. Which she did. She was, after all, supposed to be playing the role of the doting Pellex.

From the quiet corner they had been stood in they managed to slip out of the room without much fanfare. Only Lexa’s guards seemed to notice their departure. Clarke waited until they were standing outside of her door, out of view of prying eyes, to make her move. Stepping in close, she pressed a single kiss to the side of Lexa’s cheek. The unexpected move stunned the Commander, which was just what Clarke wanted. Before Lexa knew what was happening, Clarke’s mouth had dropped to her throat.

“Jok!” Cursed Lexa, as Clarke’s teeth sank in to the taught flesh above her clavicle. Unlike Lexa’s bite - which had been little more than a playful nip - Clarke bit down hard enough to bruise. Lexa was scowling as the blond finally pulled back, wearing an amused smirk. There was an angry red mark on the side of her neck, just visible above the hemline of her dress.

“Jus drein jus daun.” Clarke laughed softly at the confusion in the other girl’s piercing eyes.   
“I do not remember drawing blood.” Lexa huffed. She ran her fingers over the mark on her neck, checking to see if Clarke had in fact made her bleed.   
“My bad.” The blond shrugged, clearly feeling no remorse. She stepped in again, ignoring the way Lexa tensed, and pressed another kiss to her cheek. “Reshop, Heda.”   
“Goodnight…” Lexa mumbled back. She somehow managed to keep herself from reaching up and touching her cheek; at least until Clarke’s door was shut behind her.

 

* * *

 

  
“Disha ste ain.” Varda - the young grounder that served as a maid in Lexa’s house - held up a cup in front of Clarke, and then pointed at the one in front of her. “Bilaik ste yun.”   
“This is mine.” Clarke picked up her own cup. “That is yours.”   
“Mine.” Varda repeated after her. Clarke had been in Polis for a little over a month, and she was slowly picking up the grounder language.

She had spent most of her time through the day with Dren; since Lexa had twelve clans to preside over and a city to run. Dren was in charge of running Lexa’s household for her. As such she and Clarke spent a lot of time in the kitchen, and Clarke had made a friend out of Varda. The grounder girl had been teaching her Trigedasleng, and Clarke was teaching her English in return.

“You’re learning fast. Both of you.” Dren smiled at the two young women as she hefted a pig’s head up on to the counter in front of her. Clarke pulled a face at it, her stomach rolling. If that was on the menu for dinner then she would be giving it a miss tonight.

“Clarke is a quick study.” Varda jumped as Lexa sounded from right behind her. Clarke, who was used to the quiet way the Commander moved, was barely fazed by her sudden appearance. Varda scurried off to get back to work, leaving her wooden stool free for Lexa to take.

“I have good teachers.” Clarke smirked, knocking her shoulder in to Lexa’s. There was some quiet murmuring from the kitchen staff. Most of them had generally gotten used to Clarke and her unusual ways. Few grounders, besides maybe Dren, would have dared to even invade the Commander’s space.   
“Hmm, I just wish they would teach you something other than cursing.” Lexa joked. It had only been the night before when Clarke had called her a ‘nomon joka’ for beating her at a game of chess.

There was a high pierced scream from behind them as the knife Varda was using slipped, slicing in to her hand. The cut was a deep one, and blood was gushing out from the wound as Clarke jumped up to help. She grabbed a cloth from the counter and pressed it firmly against the cut. “Raise your arm up!” She ordered, remembering some of the basic first aid skills she had picked up from watching her mother.

Varda - who was panicking - still didn’t know quite enough English to understand. Lexa snapped something in Trigedasleng, and the young woman finally complied. She lifted her arm up, while Clarke guided her down to the floor. “Tell her to keep it in the air, it will slow the bleeding.” Lexa nodded, wearing a stern expression.

Clarke was physically shaking at the sight of the blood. Her eyes kept darting to the red stain seeping through the cloth she was holding, and her tongue was darting out against her dry lips. “Clarke...” She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, ushering her to the side as she took over holding the blood soaked towel against the terrified girl’s palm. Her voice softened as she spoke slowly and quietly, reassuring Varda that she would be fine.

Someone had already gone off for the healer, so there was little else for Clarke to do but fall back against the kitchen counter and wait. Her hands were soaked in blood. “Not for the first time, huh Clarke?” Maya stood to Clarke’s left, flanked by Wells.   
“Clarke’s got plenty of blood on her hands.” He agreed, his handsome features twisted by hatred. “People always get hurt because of her. People die because of her.”   
“She should just do the world a favor and end it-”  
“It wasn’t my fault…” Clarke muttered, staring at the empty space where Wells was standing. “I didn’t do anything-”  
“Not this time.” Maya shrugged.   
“But how long until you get somebody else killed? How long until Lexa falls under the Clarke Griffin curse? How long till you get her killed-”

“Shut up!” Clarke screamed at the top of her lungs. She balled her hands up in to fists and used them to cover her ears while she squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t stop the voices. It had been weeks since Clarke had last heard of seen the apparitions that had haunted her, and the brief respite seemed to have made them even louder; as well as angrier. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut-”

“Clarke!” Strong hands wrapped around her wrists, pulling her hands down from her head and forcing her to open her eyes. Lexa was kneeling in front of her, her expression full of concern. “Clarke, it’s okay. You are safe.” Lexa soothed, aware of the way Clarke kept looking past her. She moved her calloused hands to gently clasp the other girl’s cheeks.

“Heda?” Lustig had arrived with the kitchen-hand that had gone to fetch him. He moved straight to Lexa and Clarke, oblivious to the bleeding girl on the floor across from them.   
“Sis em au!” Lexa turned and snapped at him, pointing at Varda. “Ai don em.” The Commander moved to wrap an arm around Clarke’s waist, helping her up to her feet and ushering her away from the scene in the kitchen. They went upstairs, with Lexa guiding the other girl in to her room.

“I’m okay.” Clarke muttered, pushing Lexa away from her. She was embarrassed about her breakdown in front of Lexa and the others. She had been doing so well. Lexa looked like a kicked puppy as she shrank away from the blond. She stood in the middle of Clarke’s room, clasping her hands together behind her back. Realizing she’d been harsh, Clarke muttered and apology. “Sorry… I’m going to go wash up.” She tried not to stare at the blood staining her hands.

Stepping in to the bathroom, she stood over the water barrel and stared down at her reflection on the surface. Her cheeks didn’t look as gaunt as they had when Lexa had first found her out in the woods. They had filled out again and got some of their old color back, mostly thanks to Dren’s cooking; and Lexa’s patience with her. Letting out the breath she’d been holding in, Clarke dipped her hands in to the icy water. Instantly the blood began to pollute it, seeping in to the water and spreading out in oily patches. “It doesn’t always come off so easily. Does it?” Maya stood behind her, whispering callously in to her ear. Clarke closed her eyes again, swallowing her pride as she called out for Lexa.

The older girl was beside her in an instant. Taking in Clarke’s hunched shoulders, her tightly closed eyes, and the way she was shaking, Lexa knew at once what was the matter. “The dead are gone, Clarke.” She stepped up behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her back against her chest. Not for the first time, the voices stopped in Lexa’s presence.

Clarke turned, burying her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck. There was still a faint bruise there from her bite. She reached up and traced the outline of it with the tip of her finger. This time it was Lexa’s turn to shudder. “You should rest. I’ll go-”   
“Stay.” Clarke pleaded, her grip on Lexa’s jacket tightening. “Please. Just for a little while.”   
“Of course.” Lexa nodded stoutly. Taking one of Clarke’s hands in her own, she led her over to her bed.

Clarke lay down first, scooting over to the far side to give Lexa some room. The Commander shrugged off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began unlacing her heavy boots. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt, giving Clarke an impressive view of the taut muscles in her back and shoulders. Once her boots were finally undone she kicked them off and crawled on to the bed. Clarke shuffled closer to her once she was settled, resting her head on her chest.

“You did well.” Lexa muttered some time later. Clarke had been slowly drifting off while Lexa stroked her hair. “With the girl. You did well. You should think about working with Lustig. You could teach him many things, and him you.”   
“Maybe.” Clarke answered. “I’ll think about it.”   
“You should. You need something to keep you busy.”

“Why? Because I’m so desperately bored without you around?” Clarke teased; though it was partially true. Lexa was always off at meetings, or seeing to the needs of her people. Working as Lustig’s apprentice would give her something to do during the days. “Who says I even like having you around?” |  
“In that case…” Lexa went to sit up, but Clarke pulled her back down by her braid. The Commander of the twelve clans let out a less than dignified yelp as she lay back down. Clarke seized her chance to settle back down beside her.

“Fine. I like having you around. Sometimes.” Clarke huffed. “So keep your ass right where it is.”   
“My 'ass'?” Lexa arched a single brow up. “And what about the rest of me?”   
“That can stay too.” Clarke laughed softly, moving Lexa’s arm so that it was wrapped around her waist again. “…I’ll talk to Lustig tomorrow.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Um… what… uh… laksen? What lasken? Lustig, a little help?” Clarke looked desperately over at her mentor as she tried to communicate with the little grounder girl in front of her. She was sitting quietly, huge brown eyes staring up at the blond with innocent curiosity. The girl’s mother wasn’t so silent. She stood beside the girl, speaking in rapid succession.

It was Clarke’s second week in the infirmary and, as hard as it was communicating with her patients, the work was rewarding. She spent long hours seeing to the sick and the elderly, learning from Lustig, and teaching him in turn. It was hard work, but it was worth it for the chance to feel like she was contributing something back to the city which had taken her.

“It is her melon.” Lustig answered with a rueful smile. “And that is…?”   
“Uh… her foot?” Clarke knew it was the wrong answer, even before Lustig winced like he was in physical pain. Anatomy class was so much harder when she had to relearn everything in an unfamiliar language. Between Dren and Varda, Clarke had picked up enough of the local language to swear like a sailor, but she was still struggling to hold a full conversation.

“Head, Skaigoufa! Om Melon!” Lustig shook his own head. He was an excellent healer, and a brilliant teacher, but the man wasn’t particularly patient. Clarke got the feeling he sometimes only put up with her to please the Commander. It had been Lexa’s suggestion that Clarke become the healer’s apprentice, giving her something to do during the day.

“It is late.” Lustig sighed, rubbing at the thick grey whiskers growing on his face. “I will finish here. Heda will be waiting for you.”   
“I don’t remember having a curfew.” Clarke huffed, though they both knew Lexa would come looking for her if she wasn’t back shortly after dark.

Clarke had worked hard in earning Lexa’s trust - just as she had worked on regaining Clarke’s - but the grounder leader still worried whenever the younger girl strayed far from the infirmary or the court building; like she was fearful that Clarke might just up and take off without warning one day. Clarke would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it, especially when Lexa had first brought her to Polis.

The city was unlike anything Clarke had ever expected to find on the earth. Almost a hundred years after civilization was supposedly wiped off the face of the planet, Polis stood tall. It was a monument to Lexa’s reign, and her achievements, as Commander.

“Go.” Lustig waved her off. Having put up at least a show of objection, Clarke didn’t need to be told twice. She was at the door when it burst open from the outside.   
“Fisa! Miya snap!” One of two men - carrying a third - shouted for Lustig, pushing Clarke out of the way.

She might have scorned him, had he not been well over six foot and built like a tank. He was also soaked in the blood of the man he was carrying. The other warrior shared the same striking dark features of the man who had shoved Clarke aside, and it was a safe bet that they were related.

Forgetting all about leaving, Clarke hurried over to join Lustig and the warriors at the examination table in the center of the clinic. The little girl with the sore head was bundled up and hurried out by her mother as Lustig helped the two men place their injured comrade down on the wooden slab.

It looked bad.

The man seemed to be bleeding from everywhere. There were cuts and slashes all over his face and chest, though most of these were shallow and wouldn’t account for the massive blood loss. Clarke scoured the man’s body, looking for the true source of the free flowing red nectar. “His stomach!” She pointed out, the grounder word for it failing her as she pointed out a deep gash in the man’s stomach.

Lustig was too preoccupied to supply the correct word for her. He was frowning at the wound, the action stretching the thin white scar on his lower lip. He shook his head slowly. Nothing could be done. The young warrior had already lost enough blood to pass out, despite the pain he was in. Even if they could stitch the wound, he wouldn’t last the night.

“Sis em au!” The man’s brother demanded they help him, bearing his teeth in a growl at the healer. Lustig, who was of equal size to the man, was unmoved. He shook his head again, his icy gaze thawing out in to something akin to compassion as he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.  
“Es gonplei ste odon.” He muttered the all too familiar words in an attempt to console the man.

“No! Sis em au! Sis em au!” The grounder insisted, his pleas becoming frantic as she looked past Lustig and settled on Clarke. Finally recognizing her for who she was, he switched in to broken English. “Help him! Please, Skaigada! Please!”

“What happened to him?” Ignoring Lustig’s protests, Clarke moved to the injured man’s side and began inspecting his injuries. His brother had attempted to stem the bleeding with some strips of cloth that looked to be torn from his own shirt, but they had long since soaked through. Clarke cleared them off, wincing as the man started to come around and uttered an inhuman groan of anguish.

The man, if he could even be called that, looked barely older than Clarke. He had intricate tattoos splayed out across his left cheek, yet barely a hint of stubble on his chin. He was smaller than his brother, who looked like he could be his twin. Clarke, an only child, could only imagine what the man watching his brother die was feeling. Unlike Lustig, she couldn’t just stand back and condemn the boy to death.

“…Bear.” The bulkier brother had paused before answering, struggling to recall the English word for the beast that they had been hunting. Clarke just nodded at him, already absorbed in what she was doing as she cut away the rest of the boy’s shirt. The deep wound looked even worse once it was cleaned up. Clarke was in way over her head.

The boy’s skin had taken on a sickly, pale, pallor. He was struggling to breath, each exhale only serving to pump out more precious blood from the gash. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay…” He was starting to come around and grasped suddenly at Clarke’s hand. In unimaginable agony, the boy was unable to process the meaning of the foreign words. He whimpered unintelligently in Trigedasleng.

“Move.” Lustig knocked Clarke aside as he surprised them both by stepping in to help the dying man. Clarke held fast to his hand, trying to keep him calm and reassured while Lustig applied pressure to the wound on his abdomen. He screamed in pain, bolting upright and causing more blood to trickle out. “Hold him down!” The older healer yelled at the other two warriors, using them to pin the poor boy down to the wooden table.

“Clarke, get me a needle and sutures!” He snapped, kicking her in to action. The sutures were a far cry from the synthetic ones Clarke had seen used on the Ark. They were catgut sutures, though despite the name they were made from goats’ intestines and contained no cat. They were an old medical tool and easily made. Unlike the synthetic sutures on the Ark, they were biodegradable.

Grabbing the needed supplies from a cupboard, Clarke rushed back over to Lustig’s side to assist with the closure of the wound. Her hands were already soaked in blood and she was having trouble threading the needle. “Take a breath.” Lustig instructed firmly, taking the needle and catgut from her. “It would be kinder to let him go.” He added, in a hushed tone. “He will not live through the night. You know this, Skaigouffa.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try!” Clarke objected, her tone as steely as her glare as she took the boy’s hand again, squeezing it lightly. He’d already passed out from the pain again, but Clarke liked to think she could still offer him some comfort. Lustig shook his head, but didn’t pass comment.

“I won’t let him die…” Clarke carried on, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself. Her eyes scanned rapidly over her patient, trying to take in everything about his condition. “I can save him. I know I can!” a fire was burning in her icy blue eyes as an idea washed over her. “I just need your help, and his.” She nodded toward the boy’s twin brother.

“Anything.” The young man stood a little straighter, making him appear even taller. His size would help immensely. “I will do anything for Sebastiao.”   
“Good.” Clarke dropped the boy’s hand and moved back over to the cupboard she’d found the catgut in. “What’s your name?”   
“Aziz.”   
“Okay Aziz, I need your left arm.”

“What are you doing?” Lustig demanded as Clarke dragged over a heavy wooden chair and sat it down next to the wooden table that Sebastiao was passed out on. The healer had been impressed by her handling of the maid’s cut hand, but he wasn’t sure even the skaikru healer could help someone who had already lost so much blood.

Clarke answered while she worked, rolling up Aziz’s shirt and swabbing at the patch of skin in the crook of his elbow with a vinegar solution to sterilize it. “They’re twins. Same parents, same blood type. Aziz can give his brother some of his blood.”

“Jus drein jus daun…” Aziz muttered solemnly, though he had no idea how the strange healer intended to take his blood. He sat stiffly in the chair, craning his neck up like he was prepared for Clarke to cut his throat. Lustig looked just as wary of Clarke.

“Nothing that dramatic.” Clarke admonished, picking up on the older man’s unease. She prepared a hypodermic, a hollow needle made of blown glass, and attached it to a length of rubber tubing that she had acquired during one of her rambles around the market. She washed the vinegar solution through the tube in an attempt to sterilize it as best she could.

Clarke attached a second hypodermic to the other end of the tubing, then reached out for Aziz’s arm. The young warrior stiffened momentarily, but then forced himself to relax; Clarke had a feeling he was more afraid of her than the needle. She took her time, skillfully inserting it in to one of Aziz’s thick blue veins. The other needle went in to his brother’s arm, setting up a crude transfusion. “Keep pumping your fist like this.” Clarke demonstrated opening and clenching her fist for Aziz to copy.

Clarke left him to it as she set up another hypodermic, attaching it to a length of tubing before she rifled around looking for a glass jar. “This is about a pint. Wait for it to fill up and then take the needle out of Aziz.”   
“Fill up with what?” Lustig started to ask, but he got the message when Clarke stuck the needle in to her own arm. She stood over the jar on the counter, letting gravity do most of the work as she pumped her fist to get the blood flowing.

“Is there… is there anything I can do?” Lustig approached her, eyes wide with curiosity as he watched   
the jar filling with blood.   
“Yeah. Send that one to go tell Lexa I’ll be late for dinner.” Clarke nodded at the second warrior that had carried Sebastiao in. “And while he’s out get him to grab me something I can use as a drip. A goat bladder or a stomach should do.”

“You’re giving him your blood?” Lustig’s eye widened. “I do not think Heda will-”   
“Heda isn’t here.” Clarke snapped, trying not to focus on the blood congealing in the bottom of the jar. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, I’m a universal donor. I can’t type anyone else’s blood down here on the ground, so me and his brother are the only chance that kid has.”   
  


* * *

 

“I can give more…” Aziz tried to grab at Clarke’s wrist as she withdrew the needle from in the crook of his elbow. He’d already given two pints of blood to his brother though and was looking pale and weak. Clarke could identify with him, she’d filled the jar twice and was starting to feel the effects of the blood loss.

“We give any more and we’ll be no better off than he is. That’s his fourth pint. He’s got a good chance now.” Clarke clamped a hand on his beefy shoulder, more to keep herself standing than to comfort him. Lustig noticed her struggling and moved in to help keep her up.

“What is this?” Thhe Commander walked in at exactly the wrong time, finding Lustig with his arm around Clarke’s waist and Clarke with her hand on Aziz’s shoulder. Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened, jealousy washing over her like a flood.

“Heda, my apologies!” Lustig jumped back so quickly that Clarke lost her balance and ended up fat on her ass on the floor. “Skaigoufa!” He snapped at her, the tips of his ears burning red with embarrassment at making the situation worse.

“Heda.” Aziz tried to stand and bow, and almost ended bowling over head first. At least Lustig had the decency to catch him, unlike Clarke; who had left on the floor. Lexa ignored the men and went straight for Clarke, helping her back up to her feet and keeping a steadying hand at the small of her back.

“Wow… the room is really spinning.” Clarke slumped back against the counter, ignoring the way Lexa’s emerald gaze was burning in to her.   
“Let’s get you back.” Without warning Lexa moved to scoop the other girl up, carrying her bridal style.   
“Whoa! Look at you, Commander.” Clarke giggled, feeling lightheaded and giddy from donating so much blood to her patient.

Lexa rolled her eyes, giving Lustig a glare as she carried a still giggling Clarke out the door. Clarke wanted to object at being carried like that. She meant to. She really did. Except she turned her head, burying her face in the side of Lexa’s neck.

Clarke must have nodded off, because she opened her eyes again as she heard Dren’s voice. “Heda, let me help-”  
“No.” Lexa’s voice was firm and commanding, her breath hot against Clarke’s ear. “She is my responsibility.” They were going up the stairs. Clarke could feel the jerky motions of Lexa struggling to carry her, and she could hear the soft grunts the other girl made with every step.

“Put me down.” Clarke grumbled. “I can walk, Lex.” Her body started to protest at the loss of contact - not to mention the copious loss of blood - but she could hear Lexa struggling. Her eyes opened slowly as she stood on her own two feet, leaning back against Lexa’s chest for support. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her in place.   
“Clarke-”

“I can walk. Just give me a second.” The blond repeated, secretly enjoying the feeling of leaning in to the Commander a little too much. “Just let me clear my head.”   
“No.” That was the only warning Lexa gave her before scooping her up again. The brief pause had given her long enough to catch her second win. She tackled the stairs with ease, carrying Clarke like she weighed less than a bag of flour.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Clarke couldn’t help the breezy laugh that escaped her lips as Lexa lay her down gently on her own bed.   
“I could say the same of you.” Lexa huffed. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, watching Clarke with a sense of quietly brewing fury.

“What did you think you were doing?” Her voice was a low growl, but filled with underlying concern. “Giving your blood for a strange?”  
“He was dying.” Clarke sighed. She had expected a lecture, but not quite this soon. “I was the only one who knew how to help him… I couldn’t just stand by and watch somebody else die.”

“So you endangered your own life?” Lexa frowned. There was no real anger to her tone. She brushed aside a stray blond curl, barely holding back a smile as Clarke leaned in to her touch. They were dancing on a precarious edge, and had been for weeks now. Clarke was slowly coming around to trusting her, to not flinching whenever Lexa touched her. “For someone who is not even your people-”

“Your people are my people.” Mumbled Clarke, taking Lexa by complete surprise. Her expression softened as she trailed the pad of her thumb lightly over the other girl’s cheek. She stopped, tensing up as Clarke covered her hand with one of her own. “It’s not about us and them anymore. It’s just… us.”

Lexa swallowed hard. Her heart felt like that of a hummingbird’s, beating wildly in her chest. “Be that as it may, you are my primary concern.”   
“I feel so wanted.” Clarke chuckled, trying to diffuse some of the tension between them.   
“You are.” Lexa confirmed, catching the other girl off guard. “Wanted. You are wanted here… Lustig - he may not show it - but he is very impressed with-”

Clarke cut her off with a kiss. It was hardly fireworks and unbridled passion. It was just a brief kiss on the lips; but to Lexa it might as well have been the world. She fought every instinct in her body that screamed at her to take Clarke for herself. To reach down and claim her lips with a searing kiss that would leave the sky girl senseless.

“Thank you.” Clarke was smiling as she pulled back from the kiss. She looked oddly at ease with Lexa hovering over her, her lips still parted in surprise at the unexpected gesture. Lexa felt like she should have been the one thanking her.

“For what?” Lexa croaked out, her own voice betraying her. She shuffled to the side, lying down beside Clarke as the younger girl shifted closer.   
“For everything.” Clarke sighed. “For bringing me here. For giving me a sense of purpose. Working in the infirmary, helping people again… it feels good.”

Clarke sat up, resting her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. “For the first time in forever, since stepping foot on earth, I feel like I’m actually making a difference. I’m saving lives… instead of taking them. And I have you to thank for that. So, thanks.” Clarke pressed a second kiss to Lexa’s cheek, making her blush.  
“You are welcome, Clarke.”


End file.
